Beasts of Lalotai
by Fyrefly
Summary: Unpolished, unedited, just-for-fun drabbles, with no goal in mind. A nameless girl meets Tamatoa. '"Time for a most-delicious snack for my most-delightful self," he leered, and she heard again her mother's voice: "Your empathy will get you killed down here, daughter."' Fluffy fluffsome fluffyfluff, exercises in character-building.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Unpolished, unedited, just-for-fun drabbles, with no goal in mind. A nameless girl meets Tamatoa. '"Time for a most-delicious snack for my most-delightful self," he leered, and she heard again her mother's voice: _Your empathy will get you killed down here, daughter.'_

* * *

She had heard the moaning for some time before she trusted herself enough to seek out the source. The shadows licked at her legs as she crept along the outside of the cave of the Great Tamatoa. Her heart thudded as she remembered all of her mother's warnings about the glittering monster, whom she had only seen from afar. She'd certainly never been this close to his home before.

Sure enough, as she leaned around the last few stones right outside the mouth of his cave, there he lay: vulnerable before the opening of a giant geyser. She'd heard the warbling moans and yelps a few days earlier but had avoided it, assuming the noises were being made by some monstrous prey of Tamatoa's. It was only after the sounds had persisted - far longer than Tamatoa himself would have been able to tolerate in a victim, if her mother's stories were true - that she had realized they were likely coming from the great crab himself.

His moaning had faded to a few dejected lines of song, and some muttered despair. She bit her lip, then stealthily swept around him to the geyser's head, giving him a wide berth. She had heard how quickly he could move, how far his reach extended. She imagined he was half-starved by now, especially due to his size, and she was not interested in becoming a meager mouthful.

"Who's that? Who's there?" he uttered sharply, craning his neck toward her as she moved quickly to the other side of the geyser. She cringed upon hearing the alarm in his voice. She thought he must be suddenly regretting all his wailing. There were many monsters down here who would love to claim they had bested the Great Tamatoa.

"Come out!" he snapped, and his claws clacked viciously. "Help me or attack me, already! I dare you!"

She bit her lip, peeking around the edge of the formation and watching him desperately trying to rock himself right-side up, but to no avail. She couldn't see his face anymore, but there was no denying the panic in his movements.

She scuttled up the geyser and then, biting her lip, hesitantly eased herself around the edge of the rockface so she could look down at him - and so he could see her.

"Hello," she said, and was proud of herself for the calmness in her voice. Her insides felt weak and uneasy. She perched in a half-sitting crouch on the rock, her hands in her lap, and tilted her head to study him.

His stared for a second, squinting. " _Another_ human? Is this some sort of infestation?" His legs flailed for a moment. "Come to gawk, or to help? Because I know you're no threat to me, even like this," he added. She wondered how much of his claim was sheer arrogance, and how much might be bravado.

She didn't answer. Instead, she watched him, gauging his size, their surroundings. Suppose she had wanted to help? Her mother had always said, after all, that her weakness for anything seemingly-defenseless would get her into trouble down here in Lalotai. And she was well aware of the Great Tamatoa's love of all things squishy and meaty. Even if she were to help him, how would she get away? Could she force a promise from him not to eat her? What good was such a promise, anyway? Her mother had said that Tamatoa lied whenever it suited him. Could she scurry away to the undergrowth while he was still shaking off the surprise of finding himself rightside-up again?

And how would she help turn him back over, anyway? An elaborate pulley-system might work in her own little home, but she didn't trust herself to be able to create something so large, and in a timely measure, to the scale of a giant monster. She could find a large stalk that had fallen, or cut won down and haul it over here, perhaps to use as a lever -

"Hello?" Tamatoa snapped. He clicked his pincers warningly. "I know I'm gorgeous, but the silent staring has got to stop." And then, a small, mischievous little smile and a sideways glance. "Unless you want to get a closer look, babe." His smile grew wide, showing off teeth at least as large as herself. She tried to disguise her nervous swallow. She doubted he would even have to chew her.

"If I were to help you," she said slowly, "how do I know you wouldn't simply eat me when it was over?"

He looked doubtful, but then his eyes went innocently wide. "Why, I'd never, babe. Gratitude, and all that."

She felt the corner of her mouth twitch against her will in a sort of grim humor. "Liar," she said lightly.

His wide-eyed gaze faltered, then melted into a toothy and vaguely-threatening grin. "But I'm a beautiful liar."

She tilted her head consideringly and took him in: the luminous eyes, the armored abdomen, the shades of lavender and blue and rose. She had heard that his shell glittered with the strange trinkets and treasures her mother had tried to describe, but from his position she could only see the edges of the gold-dust crusting his upper legs. "Well, that's certainly true," she said after a moment, and he looked a bit startled - but only for a moment.

"How did this happen?" she asked, interrupting any comment he might have been about to make.

He shrugged as well as he could from his awkward position and grimaced. "A death-defying battle with a jealous nemesis," he boasted, and added, "You should see the other guy. Needed to be carried out of here by a child."

"A nemesis?" she repeated, searching her memories for her mother's stories. She thought she recalled…"Was it Maui?"

He blinked. "Well, yeah," he said after a moment, sounding affronted. His legs curled protectively toward his abdomen and she noticed the severed limb for the first time. She'd heard of it, but she'd never been close enough to see it. She'd only glimpsed him from a distance before – intentionally so.

His legs curled in further, and she buried her inner flinch at his embarrassment. "Well then," she soothed, "as hard as it is to imagine, you must be even more magnificent than I'd always been taught." She could see she'd piqued his interest. "To see that you fought Maui and came away from it without any injury at all today, only slightly inconvenienced by your position - " she clicked her tongue and let her face fall into an impressed expression. To be honest, it wasn't difficult.

She wasn't surprised when he preened, in spite of his awkward position, though she did have to bite her lip to keep from chuckling. Her mother had spoken at length of the Great Tamatoa's vanity, and the ego that seemed even larger than he himself. Still - belly-up and exposed - she couldn't help but feel empathy for him. How often had she been vulnerable, afraid, and alone?

And as usual, in spite of her mother's warnings, empathy bred affection within her.

It was foolish, she knew, even as she acknowledged that she couldn't leave him here - not like this. Still, if she had it her way, she'd remain alive at the end.

"I _am_ impressive," Tamatoa was telling her. "It's only a shame - for you - that you can't see me on my feet. I am - a sight to _behold."_ And he grinned toothily again - almost _flirtatiously._ She held in her laughter: thought it was far from meanspirited, she wasn't sure he would understand that.

"If I were to help you up," she said instead, "Where would you go?" She gestured to the mouth of his cave. "I'm sure your home is lovely, but you can't stay here now - not if Maui knows this is where you are."

"He won't come looking for _me_ again," the monster sniffed disdainfully, though he was watching her from lowered eyelids to gauge her reaction. "Not after I showed him up." And then, begrudgingly, "Besides, he has his _precious hook_ back."

"Still..." she said consideringly, looking around. "It seems like there could be a better place for you to live - just in case. If he comes back - _if_ \- and is looking for you here...well, surely you'll have a better chance of knowing he's coming beforehand. Not," she added quickly, "that you would need such foresight. Just - it might give you more of an advantage than you already have."

He slitted his eyes at her. "Are you trying to stroke my ego?"

Her mouth parted but for a moment, no sound came out.

"I mean, continue regardless," he ordered enthusiastically, waving a claw. "Though I'd prefer to be upright while I listen."

She licked her lips. "I know a place - "

He grimaced. "Not about the cave. About me!"

"You," she cut him off sharply, "are the largest, most powerful, and most-gorgeous thing down here. I would like for it to stay that way."

His lip pursed and he twitched violently, rocking back and forth on his shell. She scrambled back, as he was clearly trying to right himself - and would most likely eat her before she could so much as beg for her life.

 _Or maybe not,_ she reasoned, ducking behind the geyser formation. _Mother said he liked to gloat, to hear his prey pleading.._

Not that this would do her any good if she was dangling from the great crab's claws.

 _Or his teeth._

She heard him continuing to rock and gauged the distance between herself and some particularly thick monster-foliage, wondering if she could get through without being trapped in the plant's digestive fluid.

But then the rocking stopped and he uttered out an anguished sigh of frustration and defeat, and she peeked around quickly to find him still belly-up in the sand.

"I know a place," she said softly, cursing herself as she did so. She could almost hear her mother ordering her to leave the giant monster, to never ever look back, to hide in case he ever got himself upright and hunted her down. "I think you'd like it."

"This is where all my treasure is," he snapped. "It's the only place that matches _me,_ in all my glory." He paused. "Also, it opens to the sea above, which means I can grab a snack any time."

"This grotto has an opening up top as well," she urged softly, quietly. She tried to make her voice as gentle as possible. "If you wanted, I could help you carry your treasure - " Seeing his narrowed eyes, she hastily backtracked. " - Only, of course, if you wanted me to." She hesitated. "The sea used to sweep in there, before Lalotai was formed," she offered slowly. "It left the walls crusted in salt and crystals, and clamshells dressed in abalone."

He blinked. She thought perhaps she had him.

"Of course," she placated, breathless with her nervousness, "it could be nowhere near as beautiful as you or all your treasures, but oh - Great Tamatoa - it _shines."_

He blinked again - first at her deference, she thought, but then with the realization of what she was describing.

"I still haven't seen you upright," she said quietly, "but I can't even imagine how brilliantly you'd sparkle in a place like that."

He was silent for a moment, and she let the quiet carry on for a few beats.

"It's my favorite place in all of Lalotai," she said at last, quietly, "but I would like it to be yours."

His eyes flew to hers and she couldn't tell if she'd said something wrong. They were narrowed and for a moment, she was sure he was angry - sure he would lunge up and pluck her from the geyser where she was perched.

"What do you think you're getting from all of this, babe?" he asked after a moment, his low voice thrumming with misgivings.

She ignored the strange title and spread her hands, palms up. "I'll have to take you there."

His eyes flicked from side to side and he muttered under his breath, "Well, yes, what does - ah, I see, it means I can't - at least not right away - clever - " and he paused, his thoughts still flittering across his face.

She waited patiently.

"Yes, well, okay, I see then," he muttered, and his gaze shot back to hers with so much force she nearly toppled off the geyser. "I want to see this grotto," he said firmly, and then lifted his chin imperiously. "To see if it really is a match for my glamorous self, and if it can fit all my treasure."

She felt her lungs deflate and realized she'd been holding her breath.

"And," he added after a moment, slanting his eyes at her slyly, "I won't even eat you afterward."

She startled, though she'd known he caught on, and the sly expression widened into a grin that was entirely too predatory for her tastes. "Well, thank you," she said after a moment, and meant it. She supposed you couldn't offer anything to a giant monster and expect them not to eat you at the end of the day. She didn't trust him, but was sure this would buy her the time to think of new reasons why he shouldn't eat her.

And if worse came to worse, she knew the areas around the grotto far better than he did. She could hide easily - she just had to be quick enough.


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Unpolished, unedited, just-for-fun drabbles, with no goal in mind. A nameless girl meets Tamatoa. '"Time for a most-delicious snack for my most-delightful self," he leered, and she heard again her mother's voice: _Your empathy will get you killed down here, daughter.'_

* * *

She was afraid of course – of being eaten, of being killed, of dying – but she'd never been good at leaving helpless things behind. It had been the bane of her mother's existence.

She nodded once to herself, firmly, and gestured past Tamatoa to where the remains of a ship leaned against the mouth of his cave. "I'm going to grab that - thing," she said. "The thing the sail goes on."

"The mast?" Tamatoa questioned, looking doubtful, and she nodded.

"Yes, sorry. I've never actually been on a ship - I've only seen the ones down here - and never thought to ask what they were called." She paused, and then said, "Thank you."

He turned luminous eyes to her, and she realized he didn't have the slightest idea what she was thanking him for.

"For the word," she amended, and coughed uncomfortably. "I'm going to grab that - _mast_ \- and bring it over here. I think if you rock - like you were before - maybe I can use the mast to prop you up on your side, until we can get you over far enough for you to flip yourself. You'll just want to be careful that you don't hurt yourself when you come down on your legs."

He blinked slowly.

"How does that sound?" she checked in after a moment of silence, and he nodded slowly. For once, he looked implacable, and she had no idea what he was thinking.

She nodded again, and slid down the back of the geyser, skirting him again with a wide berth - just in case. _I_ really _hope this works,_ she thought fiercely, and clamped down on her imagination before she could picture a world in which an upright Tamatoa bit her in half and then picked his teeth with her bones.

The mast had long since broken from the boat, and it was heavy enough that it took quite a bit of work for her to drag it back to Tamatoa's prone form. He watched her while she pulled it, grunting; when she tried rolling it, it moved unevenly. Finally, she managed to push the cylinder of wood through the resisting sand to Tamatoa's side, just outside his line of vision.

"Can you hear me?" she called.

"Yeah," he responded, and she thought his voice sounded strained.

"Are you - are you all right?"

There was a pause.

"How do I know you won't try to stab me with the mast?" he asked after a moment, suspicion drenching his low voice. "Steal my treasure for yourself and feasting on my delicious crab meat for months!"

She looked at the heavy wooden spar helplessly. "It's - it's not very pointy?" she offered at last.

Silence.

She hesitated, sighed, and then looped back around. She was standing at his head now, and well within range of his pincers. She looked at them pointedly, and then back toward the eye that was closest to her, twitching suspiciously. Very, very gently, she reached out and laid a hand on one of his antennae, surprised at how it dwarfed her hand. The surface felt leathery and cool under her palm, and she ghosted her hand over it before she thought better of it.

Tamatoa went very still.

"Great and _glamorous_ Tamatoa," she said very softly, and let a bit of gentle humor creep into her voice, "I absolutely and most assuredly promise: _I will not eat you."_

He lay silently for a moment, then let out a whoosh of breath that she took for assent. She stepped away slowly, then walked swiftly back to her station at his side and tugged the mast a bit closer, hauling up one blunt end by top half of the post and angling herself for quick movement. She wasn't sure if this was going to work, but it was the best idea she had at the moment.

"Ready when you are," she called, and Tamatoa began rocking.

She made the mistake of looking up, trying to gauge when to move without getting flattened on his downward fall. A heavy coin struck her brow and she grunted in spite of herself. Smaller pieces of jewelry and coinage rained down and she hunched her shoulders, fixing her eyes on the place where Tamatoa's shell met the ground.

Then she lunged, thrusting the top of the mast head against Tamatoa's shell as he swung upward and planting her feet in the sand as she threw her weight against the base. As Tamatoa's weight shifted back, both mast and girl skittered backward through the sand and she dropped to her knees, clenching her jaw. The gravelly sand bit into her knees and feet, but she pressed the full length of her torso against the post, praying to her mother's gods that she wouldn't find herself flattened beneath the Great Tamatoa.

And then the movement stopped.

She opened her eyes and unclenched her jaw, still trying to process even as she heard Tamatoa let out a gleeful chortle.

"I can take it from here, babe!" he gloated, and threw his weight to the other side.

"No-!" she cried out, having loosened her hold on the mast, but it was too late. She flung herself as far as she could and crashed into the sand and stones even as the mast shot past her with frightening speed. A windstorm of gravel pelted her back and head as Tamatoa came down once more on his back.

For a moment, she couldn't breathe. Once, when she was young, she'd left her mother's side while they'd been hunting for monster berries, and she'd been caught by a monster who crushed its victims with its winding tongue. She'd thought her lungs had collapsed. Laying with her face buried in her arms and the sand, she now felt the same way; when she could finally gasp in a breath, she came up choking with sand.

She was on her feet before she could think, staggering, and had clambered up on the giant crab's armored belly, her mind frantic. "Tamatoa!" she cried out, falling to her knees. "Are you - "

He lifted his head and blinked up at her from her place on his abdomen. He looked confused, and vaguely affronted. "Babe, what exactly do you think you're doing?"

"Are you all right?" she asked breathlessly. Her hands were shaking, and she clenched them into fists. "You're not hurt?"

He narrowed one eye as if she were being ridiculous and strange. "You're the squishy one here."

"I - " and she faltered, and looked down at her still-shaking hands. The palms were raw and bloody, with more than a few splinters. She closed her fingers again, then her eyes, and took a breath. "I just wanted to be sure," she said quietly, once her voice had regained its calm. She opened her eyes to find him squinting at her, almost cross-eyed at their closeness.

"What happened to your face?" he asked, and she reached up to touch her right cheek. It felt raw and bloody, and she could feel sand and bits of stone embedded in her jaw. A thread of blood from her brow - where the coin had hit her, she thought - chose that moment to trace its way into her eye. She grimaced.

"I fell, trying to move," she said only, and rocked back onto her heels before standing up. She realized, slowly, how very close to his mouth she was, and backed away.

His eyes twitched as if he were reading her thoughts, and he chuckled. It was enough to rock his abdomen beneath her feet and she almost fell before turning and sliding down his side. The mast appeared undamaged, though she flinched when she remembered how near it had come to striking her when it spun out from under Tamatoa's back.

"Are you ready to try again?" she called from his side.

"Sure am," he uttered, sounding somehow both eager and resigned.

"Don't start rocking until I tell you, all right? Not now, and not once we get you on your side. I'm sorry I didn't say that before. I need to make sure I've got everything stable."

He clicked his claws, which she took to be a gesture of consent, and she flexed her raw hands before heaving up the mast again.

"Okay, Tamatoa," she said, "start when you're ready."

This time she fitted the mast in under his shell smoothly, though her hands and knees had started screaming at her and shone with a faint sheen of blood clotted by sand. Once she was sure the mast was steady, she called, "I'm going to let go for a second to make sure everything is positioned right. Try not to move?"

"Sure thing, babe," he said only, and she took her hands slowly off the mast. It creaked under his weight, but seemed steady.

"I'm going to dig a little hole a few feet up," she said, dropped to her knees in the sand and carving a trench in the earth. she tried not to look up. The ground was littered with coins and jewels and crowns, but most pieces were still jutting from his shell, and it made her dizzy to see the world upside down like that. "When you rock forward, just rock a little bit," she told him. "I'm going to try to move the mast up quickly, and plant the base in that hole. It'll be more steady that way, since I'm not strong enough to hold you up myself." She measured the hole with her eyes, then the mast, and stood up. Wiping her brow with one forearms, she took a breath, and flexed her hands before looking over her shoulder. He'd craned his eyes backward to try to see what she was doing. She smiled without thinking, hoping he would find this encouraging.

"You might only need to rock once. If it works, we'll do that two or three more times before you should be able to flip over pretty easily, I think. We'll be quick, though - the closer the mast gets to your other side, the less stable it's going to be."

"Why not try for one big lunge?" he asked, and she was grateful that he had chosen to make it a question this time instead of just doing what he thought would work.

"I'm afraid the mast won't be strong enough to hold you if you come down hard on it," she said. "At best, we run the risk of breaking it. At worst, you could really hurt yourself." She didn't want to remind him of his fear of being stabbed. Luckily, he seemed to consider her words and find them sound, because he didn't argue.

"You ready?" she directed to his eyes, and he blinked his assent. "Go on, then!" she said lightly, and he rocked forward while she forced the mast toward the next hole.

After a few more incremental movements, she stepped back to check his angle and nodded.

"I think you should be able to flip yourself from here," she nodded, stepping back in to adjust the mast and stepping out again. A shiver traced her arms - he was keeping her in his line of sight at all times, now, and she wasn't sure whether or not he had decided that he didn't need to see her crystal grotto after all. There was definitely something predatory and dangerous in that gaze. He had also grown quiet over the course of the past few hours of their work together, which was something she had not heard of in all her mother's stories.

"Ready?" she offered nervously, and his lip curled in an answering grin before he threw his weight to the side.

He came down on his feet hard, and the treasures on both his back and the floor chimed like bells as they struck one another. A cloud of sand came up and she shielded her eyes, then staggered exhaustedly.

 _He's fine._

Now, suddenly - now that everything was done - she could feel the burn in her muscles, the shriek of blistered skin on her hands and feet, the rawness of her knees and jaw. Her calves trembled and she realized, with a vague sense of horror, that she couldn't run now if she tried. Her heart fluttered as the adrenaline drained away.

She took one step, suddenly terrified, and her legs gave out beneath her. She tried to will herself up from her hands and knees.

"Well, well, well," pitched a voice from behind her, low and pleased. "Little starfish is all out of energy, hmmmm?"

She half-rolled so she could see him, and her eyes widened.

He was so much larger than she'd realized when he'd been lying on his back. Half-starved and missing at least a third of his treasure, he was still the brightest thing she'd seen in all her years in Lalotai. Once, her mother had taken her to a little cave full of bioluminescent moss that glimmered slowly and sporadically. There, the older woman had tried to tell her about stars in the nightsky.

She imagined that they must have looked like this.

He was chuckling as her heart stuttered over itself, exhausted and drained, and it wasn't until he reached toward her with his claws that she tried to move, to push him away. Even by her own standards, the movements were weak and flimsy.

To her surprise, his claws moved with an incredible deftness and precision, delicately scooping her from the ground with no trace of the biting pain she'd expected.

"Time for a most-delicious snack for my most-delightful self," he leered, and she heard again her mother's voice:

 _Your empathy will get you killed down here, daughter._

But instead, he reached back and settled her into the treasure on his shell as he sidled through the cave entrance, striking the stone wall with his opposite claw. A stone rolled away from the roof and through it, she could see the lovely waters of Lalotai's sky.

"Wanna see a trick?" the crab chortled without looking at her, and neatly snagged a golden goblet from one of the piles of treasure against the wall. With a deft flick of his claw, he sent it spiraling up through the water above. "Fish are dumb, dumb, dumb," he murmured in a sing-song voice, sounding pleased with himself and chortling merrily. A scarce moment later, a school of fish spiraled overhead, then began pelting downward. She flinched, guarding herself with one forearm as the cold bodies fell neatly from the sky and into Tamatoa's mouth.

His delighted eyes craned back to her, clearly looking for signs that he had overwhelmed her with his skill and technique.

It was then that she felt the tightness in her chest suddenly ease, and she took a shuddering breath, folding her arms beneath her and simply laying down on her belly on his shell. The treasure was uncomfortable to lie on, but she didn't care - she pressed her face into the cold gold plating and coinage.

"Babe?"

She shivered. "I thought you were going to eat me," she admitted in spite of herself, her voice catching.

There was a silence and when she looked up, he was studying her consideringly. Then he chuckled. "I don't think so, starfish. You're showing me that grotto after all, right? A gift to my gorgeous self?" And he spun and swayed lazily in the watery light. The shell around her gleamed, and threw dazzles of light over the walls.

She chuckled weakly. "I _did_ promise," she agreed, and then extended one hand to him, palm up. "Can you – is there a place nearby I can wash, though? It would probably be a good idea for me to clean these scrapes and cuts before too long." For a moment, he looked suspicious, and she quickly added, "I'm afraid I'll get blood and sand on all your lovely treasure."

Perhaps he would not have needed much convincing regardless, but her comment certainly decided him. He plucked her from his shell with that surprising delicacy, though it startled a choked gasp from her sore lungs. The world blurred past her – not horribly fast, except for that she was also very high. When he set her on her feet, she noticed his claw lingered until he was sure she was steady. The cave wall before her was slick with water, and a faint trickle of clean, clear water had worn the stone into smoothness. There was a shallow pool that seemed to drain out under the cave-wall, maybe to a lower level somewhere.

"Thank you," she said with honest gratitude, meeting his gaze squarely. His eyes shot away with something like embarrassment, and he huffed.

"How far away is this grotto, anyway?" he asked as she began cupping water in her hands and trying to rinse the grit from her bloodied knees.

"Not far at all," she said over one shoulder. Her dark hair fell in a curtain around her. "I could hear you calling for help from there, before I knew it was you."

"And you said it opens upward, to the sea?"

"It does. It doesn't have a stone you can roll across the opening – "

He snorted. "Of course not. I made that."

She paused to look up at him, suitably impressed. "Do you think you could do that again?"

He lifted his chin arrogantly. "Of course!" he boasted. Then, reluctantly, "Well, it will depend on the exterior and how the opening's situated." A grin, eyelids lowered in blatantly-false modesty. "But I _am_ clever."

She smiled in spite of herself and shook her head, then went back to washing a particularly large scrape across her upper right thigh. She sucked air through her teeth at the sting. "The grotto has a number of chambers," she said when she'd caught her breath, "and though they all look different, almost all of them are lined with some kind of crystal, or veins of shiny metal. There's a freshwater spring in one of the chambers, and it becomes an underground stream that resurfaces right outside the grotto."

"You know this place really well," he said warily.

She glanced up from picking the gravel from her palms. "Well, yes," she said lightly.

His eyes narrowed and he lowered his face to hers. She stepped back in spite of herself. Every few moments, she was reminded of how very large he was.

"How do I know you're not trying to trap me?"

She paused, then lowered her hands and simply met his scrutinizing stare.

After a moment his eye twitched and he pulled back slightly, one claw coming out to prod at her side. She endured it silently as he turned her around, studying her, and even when he plucked at the edge of her now-torn skirt, glaring at the scrapes on her knees and thigh as if they personally offended him.

"A lot of work to trap me," he muttered under his breath doubtfully, "and besides, no human would be capable of besting me – the last time one tried it took a demigod and a geyser to even call it a draw – "

He continued to study her and finally she reached out and put both of her hands on his giant claw. He met her eyes expectantly.

"Tamatoa," she said quietly, "you are too great to trap. Someone like you _must_ be free. Of all the frightening and beautiful wonders of Lalotai, you outpace them all." She smiled. "And you _can_ tell me how wonderful you are, because I love to hear the stories – but you don't need to. _Because I know."_

He lowered his face again, one eyestalk extending to scrutinize her. She almost stepped back. It was alarming, to be so close to such a large eye.

"You," he enunciated clearly, "are making me very uncomfortable."

The statement surprised a laugh from her, and he drew back, clearly discomfited. "Clean your face," he ordered. "You're getting all – crusty."

It didn't take long, especially once he silently handed her a shield she propped against the wall and used to clean the sand from her jaw. He lay silently while she worked, watching with half-lidded eyes. "Hair too," he ordered when she paused, and she chuckled before rinsing out her hair, especially at her scalp where some of the blood from her brow had clotted. Every muscle in her body ached. Her shoulders and thighs hummed with pain, and exhaustion crept into her fingers, making her work slow. After her fifth or sixth yawn, he asked, "How likely is it someone else will find this grotto before tomorrow?"

She chuckled. "Not very likely at all, Tamatoa. It's been here for a very long time. And as long as I have known of it, I've never seen other creatures invade it. It's very well-hidden. There is a massive wild hedge of berries and vines that conceal the entrance – you eat berries, don't you?"

He sniffed. "If they're good. I prefer fish, though." A pause, and then: "Maybe you should rest before we go – leave in the morning. I wouldn't want you messing up and giving me the wrong directions, babe." His tone was warning, but she only smiled, though it was a little strained. She doubted she could sneak away from him, and of course he might change his mind while she rested and choose to eat her instead – but she doubted she could move more than a few paces from him without collapsing in exhaustion.

"You're very kind and gracious," she said mildly, and looked up at him. "Where should I rest?"

She saw his eyes flick uncomfortably to the right, and she followed them to see a structure made of giant, spear-like bones: a cage made from the ribs of some dead monster. She felt herself blanch and she took a step back in spite of herself. "I – "

"Uh – here," he interrupted, gesturing to the remains of a small boat to the left, his voice tense with something like nervousness. One part of the strange canoe had been filled with coins and abalone shells; the rest housed the tattered remnants of a crumpled sail. She breathed a sigh of relief, pressing one shaky and scraped palm to her sternum, and turned her eyes back to his. A Shivery, strained smile tilted her mouth. "Thank you, Great Tamatoa. That will be perfect."

The sail had been cleaned – she wasn't sure if she was surprised or not. While she had known of Tamatoa's vanity, she wasn't sure she'd been prepared for his fastidiousness. After making sure she was no longer bleeding from any of her cuts, she climbed into the little boat and fashioned herself a bed from the heavy sail. It was made from stiff hide, and not particularly comfortable – but she was exhausted, and sleep swallowed her whole.


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: Unpolished, unedited, just-for-fun drabbles, with no goal in mind. A nameless girl meets Tamatoa. '"Time for a most-delicious snack for my most-delightful self," he leered, and she heard again her mother's voice: _Your empathy will get you killed down here, daughter.'_

* * *

Before she opened her eyes, she became aware of the world moving around her. She thought, at first, that she was a child again, carried by her mother – then she imagined she was dreaming of the boats and the seas her mother had once told her about.

Then the aches in her body reminded her of the day before, and she opened her eyes to see the world of Lalotai sweeping lazily past.

She sat up gingerly, testing the weakness of her muscles, the shakiness of her thighs and calves. The boat had been emptied of its coins somehow, while she was sleeping, leaving her with space to stretch out. She found herself surrounded by a small lake of gold coins, jewels, pearls – Tamatoa's shell, fully redecorated. She glanced over her shoulder to see the back of his eyestalks and his claws waving. He was humming, murmuring lines of song she couldn't quite make out underneath his breath.

She eased herself over the edge of the boat, giving herself a moment to adjust to the moving terrain that was Tamatoa's shell. Feeling herself wobble, she dropped to her sore knees and crawled up his gold-plated back, trying not to disturb the piles of coins and jewelry and trinkets that lined the shell around her. Her fingers eventually found purchase at the shell at the edge of his neck, just as his singing stopped and he swiveled his head and eyes to peer down at her.

"Well well well, little starfish," he purred. His voice was dark and rich and she wasn't sure if it was a greeting or a warning. "Finally awake?"

She peered past him. "Tamatoa," she breathed. "I've never seen Lalotai like this."

He paused in his stride and she stared at the brightly-patterned foliage and strange stones, the smaller monsters that she was suddenly looking down upon as they scurried out of Tamatoa's way.

"It's lovely," she murmured, and her hand crept out without her realizing to lay softly against the side of his neck.

There was a moment of silence before he snorted. "But not as lovely as _me."_

She tore her eyes from the landscape then, a smile breaking over her face. "Oh, not even anywhere close to as lovely as you."

He preened. "The loveliest thing you've ever seen, I'm sure, babe."

She smiled, and stroked the side of his neck without thinking. She'd missed this – giving affection. Having someone to give it to. "Oh, by far. You're lovelier than any lovely thing I've ever seen. Flowers, glimmering mosses, the sun through the water – none of them come even close to being as beautiful as you are. You're luminous. You're blinding." He paused, eyeing her suspiciously, and she looked back quizzically. For someone so eager to boast, he seemed so distrustful of her compliments.

But then he smirked and responded, "The first time you saw me, your heart must've skipped a beat."

She threw back her head and laughed openly. It was the first time in years she'd had occasion to do so, and even longer since she'd felt safe enough from wild monsters to make such noise with such abandon. She stretched her arms over her head at the sheer joy of it and laughed again, throwing herself back onto Tamatoa's shell and stretching out amidst the coins and pearls. "Skipped a beat?" she teased, staring at the leaves and the watery sky overhead. "The first time I saw you, my heart stopped beating entirely. I thought I had died – and not because you were going to eat me."

 _Who knew I was so starved for company?_ she thought, and quickly answered herself: _Your mother. Your mother knew. It was her biggest concern and fear when she lay dying._

She pushed the thought away. For a moment, she didn't even care if he caught her once they got to the grotto, if he ate her there. For now, she was happier than she'd been in years. She wasn't alone. "Lovely as a sunrise must be," she murmured dreamily, a silly smile on her face as she stared up at the light refracted through Lalotai's watery dome. "Blue and pink and lavender and gold." A thrill rushed through her and, almost giddily, she raised herself back into a sitting position, only to find Tamatoa had halted his movements completely and was watching her with some inscrutable expression in his eyes. She wished she could see more of his face from this vantage point. She crept to the edge of his shell again. "Tell me, Tamatoa," she said eagerly, her fingers curling around the edge of his shell. "I've heard stories, of course, but nothing from you yourself. How did you become who you are? What is it about all this - " she gestured expansively to his shell, to the treasures there " - that calls to you?"

"I - " he started, and stopped, muttering. Then, irritably: "The whole point of coming out here was to make sure you got some food, babe. Can't have you starving while you're getting me to my new digs." A claw reached back, offering a small branch full of berries, each as big as her palm - in other words, tiny for fruits found in Lalotai. "They're safe for humans," he added moodily, his eyes locked on her suspiciously.

She accepted them gratefully, settling back into a cross-legged position, but didn't back down. "I'd heard you love to talk about yourself," she teased. "Is that untrue? You won't tell me?"

"I didn't realize you were so _chatty_ yesterday," he sniped back, clearly in a mood. She paused. He had been humming under his breath earlier - seemingly pleased, perhaps even looking forward to seeing her grotto - well, his grotto, now.

At her silence, he huffed, and began walking again, using his claws to sift through the high branches of the Lalotai trees in search of other suitable berry-bunches. Slowly, as if against his will, he conceded, "I wasn't always this gorgeous, you know, babe. It takes hard work to shine like this."

Another branch full of berries descended, and she accepted them quietly and laid them next to her. Surely he knew she couldn't eat so many of these, and she wondered briefly if he was trying to help stock her up. But no, that was highly unlikely; perhaps he just didn't know how small human stomachs were.

"Once upon a time, even _I_ was tiny and ugly - just like you."

There was a note of mockery in his voice now, but it didn't seem mean-spirited, and she laughed. "You? Ugly? I don't believe it. Not ever."

He sounded pleased with himself as he stretched to reach for higher branches. "Believe it. Not a drop of gold in sight."

"But, Tamatoa, while your gold is gorgeous, it's not the only beautiful thing about you," she protested, and he slanted a glare over his back at her.

"Who's telling this story? You or me?"

"You," she offered meekly, sitting back and taking a bite from her palm-sized berry. The fruit filled her mouth with sweetness; it dripped down her lips. Her stomach growled and she closed her eyes in pleasure as she ate and listened.

"That's right, starfish." A pause. "One of the first shells I lived in had an abalone streak marbling the outside. I sanded and polished it for days and days and days and days. It's still around the cave somewhere." She could hear the satisfaction in his voice. "I knew ever since I was a tiny crab crawling from the sea - small enough for you to hold in your little human hand, starfish - that I wanted all creatures to look at me and be _dazzled."_

He made a smug sound of contentment and reached back with another branch of berries. "So I ate and I ate and I grew and I grew and I collected more and more treasures and - well. As you can see - " he swayed lazily in a circle, almost dancing, his head loftily high and his antennae twitching " - it's been my life's work. And I am _glorious."_

"You are," she agreed steadfastly. Then: "I hate to interrupt but - this is enough fruit to last me for a long time. I'll have to preserve some of them to eat them all."

He shifted in a way that she understood to be a shrug. "Do you know your way from here or do we need to go back to the cave?"

She looked around. "I'm - not sure. I might need to get down - everything looks so different from up here."

His eyes twitched back to her. She was amazed by how quickly he could move from suspicion to prideful pleasure and back again. "No running off, babe," he said warningly. She thought of her plan - to take him to the grotto and then, hopefully, sneak away to safety.

"Of course not," she said guilelessly, looking for a place to slide down from his shell. The drop was significant.

He saved her the trouble by plucking her up deftly with one claw and setting her down in front of him. For a moment, his claw lingered distrustfully. She looked over her shoulder at him.

"I'm not going anywhere right now," she said, firmly and truthfully.

The claw withdrew, but she didn't move.

"And Tamatoa?"

"What, starfish?" he said broodingly.

"Thank you. For the story, I mean. I'd love to hear more if you're ever willing to share." Without waiting for him to respond, she turned her back to him and looked around. "Oh yes, I know where we are. It's this way," she said, and took off at a brisk pace.

With his monstrous stride, he was more than easily able to keep up with her. She found, to her surprise, that she quite liked striding along in the shadow of the Great Tamatoa's chest. She had no illusions about him or his intentions, but she felt protected nonetheless. There were a few moments when she was scrambling over fallen trees and logs, and he would quietly lift her or provide a support, which she gratefully accepted.

The journey took less than half a day, and she forced herself to continue thinking about how she might evade the Great Tamatoa after he found the grotto, or how she could continue to convince him not to eat her. Briefly, she considered bypassing the grotto and circling back to prolong their journey, but quickly disregarded the idea. Vain and self-centered as he may have been, but he was just as clever and sharp, despite his tendency to murmur aloud his thought processes.

The trip was punctuated by a few brief stories: the time Tamatoa had found his first piece of gold: a wide plate that had been in a wooden trunk that had floated up on the shore of an island where he lived. He described his on cleverness in learning how, while other coconut crabs distributed chalk and chitin on themselves to harden their abdominal walls, he had made it a point to add gold dust and - as he grew bigger - plating and leafing and coinage. He spoke about lipping between strange lands and times, and often used words and terms she didn't recognize. Only once, almost by accident, did he speak of Maui: eyes glowing with pride, he described a battle with a monster of enormous and snakelike proportions, a serpent-eel who had been jealously guarding an island spring. While reliving the battle and his own cleverness, he mentioned that Maui had then "leapt in - the mini-idiot - and even if he did kill the ugly creature, he almost accidentally got himself cut by my claws - " he broke off abruptly, mid-chortle, as though suddenly remembering who he was speaking of. "Of course," Tamatoa uttered broodingly, suddenly quiet, "he gets all the credit, though."

She knew they had used to adventure together. Her mother had told her tales of the one-time companions, but had no story to explain why they were now such bitter enemies. _Gods and monsters,_ her mother had said, and shrugged. _Who can tell what's in their minds?_

"You used to be friends?" she said only.

Tamatoa chuckled, but the sound was ominous. "Oh, little starfish. I suppose you could say that."

He didn't sound like he would say that at all, actually.

He continued, almost mournfully. "He all but raised me. I washed up from the sea, and he took me in. I think he must've seen something of himself in me." His voice grew mocking. "After all, he was unwanted too."

She tilted her head, knowing he was trying to lead her with his words. "Unwanted?"

He chuckled gleefully. "The one story he doesn't want anyone to know," Tamatoa snickered. "His parents saw him and were so - _underwhelmed -_ they threw him right back into the sea. Just a squishy little human infant at the time; not even a demigod yet."

The thought saddened her. Her mother had told her that such things happened above Lalotai, but she couldn't imagine it herself. _It's because you've a soft place in your heart for anything vulnerable,_ her mother would say, and her voice would have been a blend of admiration and regret.

But - that hadn't been what she'd wanted to know. She paused, looking back and up, until he lurched to an abrupt halt behind her. "I meant you," she said quietly.

He looked startled and uncomfortable, then scoffed. "I told you," he said airily, though she noticed he was watching her from the corner of his eyes. "I was a drab little crab, once." She tried to imagine it, clambering over the gargantuan fallen stalk of a dying monster flower. Without prompting, Tamatoa reached out the flat side of one claw lest she stumble. Once she was safe on the other side, she stopped and turned back to him, hands on her hips.

"No," she said firmly. She imagined him small in the palm of her hands. She remembered the baby monsters she'd brought back home - birdlings fallen from their nests, nearly too big to carry; a wounded sea turtle she'd dragged home on the edge of her skirt; once, a gold-dust day gecko big enough that she'd had to drape it over both shoulders. Her mother had despaired of her. _They'll keep coming back,_ she'd said, _and when they're big enough, they'll eat you._ It had been years before she realized that her ministrations rarely worked because her mother was suffocating the baby monsters while she slept. She had wept each time a creature had died, thinking it was due to her own incompetence, and her mother had held her grimly. _You'll survive this, grief_ she'd said. _You have to harden your heart. You have to, or what will you do when I'm gone? How will you survive in the land of monsters?_

Well, it had been years since her mother had died. Though she understood that her mother had been trying to protect her, she nevertheless found herself thinking, _I have survived this long on my own._

"No," she said again, and meant it. Her palms itched to cup together, cradling an imaginary crabling. She kept them firmly planted on her hips instead. "I'd have wanted you."

Tamatoa's face lowered to hers, his eyes so close she could see her whole body reflected in them: the scrapes on her jaw and knees, the cut through her brow. Her own eyes: large, open, earnest. Dark.

He withdrew so suddenly he left a backdraft of wind in his wake, fluttering the edges of her hair and skirt. "No need to worry, babe," he purred, and half-turned to flaunt his glittering shell. "I made sure I'd never be looked over or left behind again." He chuckled, and the sound was low and dangerous.

He withdrew so suddenly he left a backdraft of wind in his wake, fluttering the edges of her hair and skirt. "No need to worry, babe," he purred, and half-turned to flaunt his glittering shell. "I made sure I'd never be looked over or left behind again." He chuckled, and the sound was low and dangerous. "Who could help but love me now?"

To her, the words sounded like a threat - not one directed at her, perhaps, but to the world at large. Nevertheless, she answered. "I don't know," she responded honestly, and her hand found its way from her hip to her chest, pressing against her sternum where the old, familiar ache had spread and warmed.

 _You can't go breaking your heart open for every small, sad creature,_ her mother had scolded on an almost daily basis. _Sooner or later, they'll eat you up._

She could reason that Tamatoa might be hard to love now - _not that this would stop you,_ she imagined her mother saying. She still had no assurance, after all, that he would not kill her when all of this was done. And though he'd brought her berries and let her sleep in a little boat on his back rather than in a bone cage - though, perhaps surprisingly, he had not been cruel - he also had not been curious at all about her. _Not,_ she thought with sudden affection, _that I mind being called Starfish._

But when she'd first seen him - or at least, when she had first ventured so close to him, yesterday - all she'd seen was someone vulnerable and abandoned. She felt sure he'd bee this way only because he'd had to grow so many sharp edges and armors over the thousands of years of his existence.

 _You don't know that,_ her mother would have scolded. _And even if you're right - will you undo millennia of bitterness and resentment in the blink of an eye that is your brief human life?_

Tamatoa was eyeing her now with that rare, unfathomable look. Usually, she'd noticed, his expressions were easy to interpret - but every once in a while, he would study her with some inscrutable gleam in his eye, as if he were assessing her for some unknown quality.

"We're almost there," she said uncomfortably, and turned back to continue walking down the small trail she'd cut for herself.

Tamatoa was too large, of course, to fit down such a narrow and short path. Flowers that had been like small trees to her were pushed aside or stepped on in his wake. She would show him the cave, she had decided. Hopefully, he would be so dazzled by it, so eager to explore, that she would be able to slip away while he wasn't looking. She could go back to the place where her mother's hut still stood, hidden away in a leafy thatch, and stay there until she found a better location.

And if he wasn't distracted? Or didn't like the place?

She shivered in spite of the warmth of Lalotai and shook her head resolutely. She'd figure something out. Plead to his better nature.

The bright vegetation rose around them, and in just a few more steps, they broke through to a clearing and a sheer rock face covered in vines.

"There's an opening behind the leaves," she told him. "That's the grotto."

She saw his eyes glint with excitement, but then they turned to her with a trace of wariness. "You first, babe," he said with a faint warning in his tone, and she smiled. She had expected that - it was no reason to be more concerned. Inside the grotto, there would be plenty of room for her to step back and fade away, as long as he was distracted.

She pushed through the vines, each leaf nearly the size of her body. Above and behind her, Tamatoa separated the vines, and they whispered against each other.

The light glanced down from the hole at the top of the grotto and she heard Tamatoa suck in a breath. The entry of the grotto was vast and expansive, and the walls gleamed with crystal points ranging from a clear stone as large as she was to the fine, glittering crust of white and lavender and gold that covered the vertical rock faces. Veins of something shiny traced the floor and a massive, nearly-translucent boulder in green; a series of pockets trenched in the walls glimmered with blue and green and pink.

She turned to see if Tamatoa was as enraptured as she'd hoped but before she could complete her movement, he'd swept her up in one claw, even as he whirled to take it in.

"Azurite," he breathed. "Copper vein, and fluorite. What is this - quartz? - yes - selenite, nothing too exciting there but - oh, and topaz - _diamond -_ "

She twisted in his claw, a sudden wave of panic assailing her. Stupid - to not have considered he might have picked her up -

 _Put me on your back,_ she willed. _I can get away before you even know I'm gone -_

He was gesturing with his claws, reaching up, as fully-enthralled as she'd hoped but with the devastating addition of having his pincer gripped delicately at her hips. His wild waving was disorienting: the glimmering walls of the cave she knew so well seemed very different from this height, and they flashed past her in a haze of sparks and halos.

"This must have been a volcano," he was muttering, almost gloatingly, scraping through the rocky ground below with his other claw. "Long ago, before Lalotai, before it flooded. You don't find diamond just anywhere." He plucked up a stone as large as her face, translucent and milky, and covered in nodules that reflected light across his face. He held her still while he studied it, grinned, and reached back to place it ceremoniously on his back.

"I can wash that for you," she blurted out, renewing her wriggling in his massive claw. "There's a spring, in one of the chambers - "

He paused, claw half-extended toward his back, but his eyes were not on her.

 _"What,"_ he said sharply, "is that _ugly_ thing?"

Her stomach fell. She half-twisted, trying to see what he was gazing at over her shoulder.

"Oh," she said, suddenly self-conscious. The structure was modest, but she hadn't thought of it as _ugly._ "That's - that's my home."

His eyes turned to her then, narrow and expectant. She wriggled again in his grasp half-heartedly, then gave up with an exasperated sigh. "I needed a home," she explained, almost apologetically. "It seemed like as good a place as any to live. It's hidden, and well-protected, and there are fruits growing outside and a fresh spring all right here."

"So you built your… _hideous_ little _hut_ …in this glorious masterpiece?" His tone was somewhere between horrified and enraged. She kicked her legs, renewing her efforts to struggle out of his grasp, and his eyelid twitched. "Babe - stop it. Stop it. _Starfish_."

She huffed, suddenly impatient. All her nerves broke through the surface at the same time. "Well, I wasn't planning on staying here after you moved in," she snapped. "Let me go, and you can get rid of the hut. _Or,"_ she added waspishly, "just _eat_ me already."

He pulled back slightly, perplexed, then suddenly thoughtful. He turned his face from her to gaze around the vast grotto, seemingly ignoring her once again. She uttered a curse and resumed her twisting and kicking.

"You didn't bring me here just to save your hide, babe," he said at last, shrewdly, eyeing the open hole above and the glimmering walls at the cavern's zenith.

Her teeth clenched as she tried a new tactic: pushing his claws apart so she could drop down to the cave floor, though it seemed an unreasonable height. "Of course not," she said sharply, absorbed in her escape. _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ she told herself fiercely. "I meant what I said. You need a new home, and I thought you would like this place." Her breathing was short and rasping now, and she couldn't have told whether it was from fear or anger.

Then he was holding her at eye level, peering at her, tilting both eyes to the side quizzically. "Where were you planning to go?"

In sheer frustration, she slapped both her palms against his massive claw - he blinked in surprise, but she was certain he'd barely felt it. She scowled. _"Away!_ I was going to go away and find a new place and built a new home!"

"In Lalotai?"

"Where else?!" she asked, and her voice was almost a shriek at this point. "This is _all I know!"_

"You mean you were giving me your home."

She abruptly went still and silent. There was something about his tone of voice…that indicated a kind of insight and perception she hadn't expected of him. An empathy, almost.

Her anger drained away, and she resigned herself to dangling limply from his claw. She was tired, and she was still sore, and he was too large and strong and monstrous. She put her hands to her brow for a moment, covering her face.

"You were giving me your home," he repeated, almost quizzically.

"I was," she agreed quietly, dropping her palms. "It's too big for me anyway." She half-shrugged. "Will you let me go now? Or are you going to eat me?"

He drew his entire body low to the ground, his chin resting on the rocky stones as he set her slowly on her feet, watching her. She shifted uncomfortably, not sure if she should try to run for the entrance - not sure if she could make it if she tried. He was too close, and he consumed her entire field of vision.

"You said you would help me bring my treasure here if I liked it," he said after a moment.

"I – wait, what?"

His voice was cold. "I don't like being left behind."

"I'm not - I - what?" she said again helplessly, utterly at a loss.

"I'm not eating you, but you have a promise to keep," he sniped pettily, leaning back and looking around the grotto again. "You'll stay here till it's done, and then you can get on your way." He sniffed. "If you can bear to be apart from my gorgeousness, that is. Another day and I don't know how you'd manage it."

She looked at him, then turned to the door of the cave, then back to him and then at her little hut. "I - "

"And don't think for a _second_ that you're staying in that ugly little wreck," he sneered. "That has to _go,_ first thing, before we can bring my treasure back. Ugh."

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so bewildered. "I don't - "

"We can build you a new one, something - more fitting," he intoned, eyeing the walls around them as if trying to imagine a coordinating shelter. "Until then, you can sleep in the boat," he added, with a nod toward his shell.

"I - I mean, that is, how long...do you think we'll be moving your treasure?" she managed to ask at last, weakly. She couldn't imagine the process taking more than a day or two - maybe a little longer if she was able to convince him to let her go through her things before he simply lifted her little home and heaved it out the doorway. She was baffled, but she thought - perhaps - was the Great Tamatoa implying that he wanted her to stay indefinitely? Could she trust his promise not to eat her? Surely - surely, she was wrong. "I don't - "

He tossed his head: pacing the room, strutting, admiring the infinite variations of light playing across his gold-littered shell and the room around him. "It occurs to me," he said off-handedly, as if he didn't have a care in the world, "that I hadn't really given thought to you existing before you crept out from behind that rock yesterday morning." He canted his eyes sideways to her, trying to be stealthy as he waited for her reaction.

She let out a choked noise somewhere between a laughter and a groan, rocking back on her heels and smiling in spite of herself. "You thought I popped into being the moment I became relevant in your life."

He shifted in the way she knew to be a shrug. "Can you blame me, starfish?" he asked, flashing her an enormous, toothy grin.

She chuckled in spite of herself then, and sighed. "What do you want to know?"

He shrugged, still feigning nonchalance - though, she admitted, he really might be too transfixed with himself to do much more than gaze around the walls of the grotto. "You clearly know who I am. Have for some time, doubtless," he added, with another self-congratulatory smile. She snorted. "Do you have a name, starfish?"

"If I tell you, will you call me by it?" she challenged, though her ire had mostly faded.

His grin widened, almost threateningly. "No promises."


	4. Chapter 4

Summary: Unpolished, unedited, just-for-fun drabbles, with no goal in mind. A nameless girl meets Tamatoa. '"Time for a most-delicious snack for my most-delightful self," he leered, and she heard again her mother's voice: _Your empathy will get you killed down here, daughter.'_

* * *

She thought about avoiding his question. "I don't entirely mind going by _starfish,"_ she said lightly.

His eyes narrowed. "After basically whining for my precious attention, you're not even gonna tell me your name?" he asked.

"I have to admit – you have a point," she said weakly, then shrugged. "I don't know what my mother named me," she admitted at last, looking toward her hut. There were treasures inside – small things, nothing Tamatoa himself would find remarkable, but she wanted to make sure she had them in hand before he set about destroying her home.

His massive claw descended and bumped lightly against her chin, tipping her eyes back toward his. "You don't know what your mother named you?" he asked disbelievingly. "Isn't that…weird, for humans, babe?"

She chuckled. "Walk with me," she invited, and turned toward her hut. She figured this was as good an opportunity as any. Surely he wouldn't begrudge her a few small things, no matter how "ugly" he found them. "My mother always called me _daughter_ or _flower._ I am sure she named me, but I never knew it. I hadn't thought to ask for the longest time, and then it was too late. But I knew, by what she called me, that I was precious to her."

He strode alongside and above her. "What did your human friends call you though?"

She smiled, and tried to make sure it didn't look sad. "I didn't have any human friends," she said mildly. "I grew up here in Lalotai." She swept aside the curtain that covered the hut door, tucking it behind a hook and walking inside. She could almost feel his surprise and confusion behind her.

He knelt, chin to the floor of the threshold as his eyes followed her inside. "You grew up here? Even _I_ didn't grow up here."

She pulled her mother's shawl from a peg in the wall, and a blanket made of monster-hide beaded with dyed shells from the bedding. The shells clinked together merrily, and she wondered if Tamatoa would approve of the pattern and colors despite its lack of glamour. She tucked both into a woven basket that she rested on her hip.

"My mother was a leader, of sorts, in her village. There was a man on her island, a famous builder of canoes. But he was vile, my mother said. He beat his wife and child horribly. He didn't think anyone would care enough to ensure there were consequences, because he was so good at building canoes. For a time, he was right. The community tried to hold him accountable, but it didn't prevent his violence in the long run. Some people were hesitant to take further action because of the skill he brought to canoe-building. And some were frightened of him - rightfully so - " She shrugged.

"Ah yes," Tamatoa muttered, his eyes following her as she moved through the room, plucking up a shell necklace and a favorite woven basket. "I see. Not your mother."

She smiled at him bemusedly. "No," she agreed, reaching for a clay pot. "Not her. She made sure that anyone who was reluctant to see him face the consequences of his actions was reminded that a community is only as strong as the behavior it permits. Once it allows corruption, she reminded them, the corruption spreads. And we are all responsible for each other." She settled everything into her basket. "The people gave him a boat, and enough food for a fair while, and they sent him away."

"I'm guessing he didn't go far."

She chuckled, her arms full of basket and cloth and shell as she faced him. He pulled backward, and she exited with all her meager belongings, moving toward a low groove in the grotto wall that she had often used as a shelf in the past. When she spoke, there was a sad sort of humor in her voice. "You'd be guessing correctly, then. He must have been skirting around the edges of the island for days. One night he crept into my mother's home and dragged her away from where she slept, bound her in his canoe, and brought her to the entrance of Lalotai. He threw her in with her wrists still bound. It was a miracle she survived – but my mother was always a survivor." She flashed him a challenging grin. "She expected me to be one as well."

He scowled, but didn't take the bait. "She must've been pregnant with you at the time."

"Yes." She pouted playfully at his lack of response, but then turned to set each item carefully on the shelf, far enough away from the hut that she hoped they wouldn't be thrown away. She thought they looked pretty between the crystals. She hoped Tamatoa wouldn't find them plain enough to grumble about. "She labored – in silence and alone – during my birth. She raised me alone. For the first ten years of my memories, we spent every few days searching for another entrance, another exit. But then I think she gave up, and she focused her attention on trying to prepare me for a life down here." She smiled, stroking the folded shawl fondly before turning and looking up at Tamatoa."I was her only sentimentality, at least by the time I knew her. She was…ruthless." Her brow furrowed as she thought again to the small and helpless creatures she'd brought home, smothered in their sleep by a woman who would risk no monster fixating on her young daughter.

"She thought I was too soft to survive," she confided. She tried to smile, but it was strained. "She believed I'd try to make friends with monsters and end up getting eaten."

For once, the giant crab said nothing – just snorted and eyed her knowingly.

She threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, don't tell me _you_ disapprove!" she teased. "You'd certainly not have this lovely new home if I wasn't so easily swayed by a pretty shell and a handsome face!" She wrinkled her nose at him, laughing.

He pulled back again, looking pleased but slightly embarrassed. She hadn't thought crabs could blush, but perhaps his monster-blood lent itself to these more human expressions. She found herself utterly charmed despite herself: the Great Tamatoa, _blushing!_ Who knew such a thing was possible?

"I think you mean a _gorgeous_ shell and a _stunning_ face," he said quickly, clearly trying to regain the upper hand. It positively tickled her and she actually had to stifle a giggle. "That said," Tamatoa continued, clearing his throat, "I didn't know the name my mother gave me, either – if she ever gave me one." He strode over to the hut, busying himself by plucking at the patchwork roof. She imagined it was so he didn't have to look at her.

She felt herself soften even further toward him, and she moved toward him even as he began dismantling her home. She eyed the hut with fondness, and more than a little regret. "You didn't?"

He paused, then glanced out to the opening of the grotto. "Crab larvae live solitary lives in the ocean. By the time I washed up on shore, I had barely run into another creature. I don't remember my mother at all, and it wasn't until much later that I met any of my family." He cleared his throat again, clearly uncomfortable. "That was when I met Maui. Together, we chose my name."

For a moment, she was smitten by the adorable scene such a description brought to mind, but the feeling was quickly followed by sorrow. Her heart ached for the monster. He must have missed his friend so much. He must still grieve the loss, in some way or another. "Well then," she said softly. "Perhaps, if you want, you can help me choose mine."

"That sounds terribly boring. I'd rather do anything else," he sniffed, but he was watching her from the corner of his eye. "Why – why would you want me to?"

Her smile grew broader, warmer, and she teased, "Maybe you'll be less likely to eat something if you've named it."

He huffed in annoyance. "I told you I wouldn't eat you, babe," he said, but she thought he sounded more relaxed than he had just a moment before. He grinned a little, but it was bitter around the edges. "Maui'd already gotten it into his inflated head that he'd become some sort of gigantic hero. We thought – well, we were stupid kids, and we thought I'd join him, so we chose something dashing." The grin turned brittle even as he finished picking apart her roof, laying the thatching and debris to one side with more fastidious care than she'd have expected. "Tamatoa – a hero's name," he all but sneered. "Neither of us would have guessed that I'd be the villain of the piece instead," he sulked. It might have been easy to brush aside his tone as childish pouting, but she felt the loss that lay underneath it, the grief.

"Just because you're the villain of one story doesn't mean you can't be the hero of another," she offered softly. "It doesn't mean you're – " she fell silent, and he swept in a half-circle, dropping his face to meet hers.

"Doesn't mean I'm what, little starfish?" he purred dangerously, daring her to finish her sentence. His claws clicked together in warning.

She pursed her lips and tilted her chin defiantly.

"It doesn't mean you're unlovable," she said firmly.

For a moment, he looked like he'd been struck. Whatever he'd thought she might say, it hadn't been that. His eyes grew wide and his mouth fell slightly agape.

Then he laughed, but it was not the self-satisfied chuckle she'd grown familiar with in the last few, brief days. It sounded almost sinister. "Of course not, starfish, but I was never cut out to be a hero." He half-turned to flaunt his shell, but the gesture seemed empty, mocking. "I was a scaredy-shrimp when I was small. I was nothing – unimpressive." A snicker. "I had a larvae's love for Maui – some sort of blind, pseudo-sibling adoration. When he left for the last time, I learned that I needed take care of myself, to make something _glorious_ and _unforgettable_ of become a legend in my own right." He preened.

She hummed a little sound of sadness. "And?" she asked softly. "Did you ever get to love anyone again? Or were you too busy, making yourself a legend?" She eyed his gold pointedly, but without judgement.

He had her in his claw almost before she'd finished the sentence, gripping her waist delicately as he lifted her high above her own hut, to his eye-level.

"Don't be _boring,_ " he ordered grumpily. "I've got my priorities, babe. And squishy feelings are not among them."


	5. Chapter 5

Summary: Unpolished, unedited, just-for-fun drabbles, with no goal in mind. A nameless girl meets Tamatoa. '"Time for a most-delicious snack for my most-delightful self," he leered, and she heard again her mother's voice: _Your empathy will get you killed down here, daughter.'_

A/N: I apologize if my timelines are off at all. I was trying to cross-reference the temporary break in Polynesian exploration and expansion with a few other historical elements and I am not sure if I did so successfully.

* * *

Her hut had been completely dismantled the night before. She'd felt a great deal of both affection and melancholy while watching Tamatoa strip the walls away with surprising fastidiousness, fussing over the scraps of monster-hide and the rough wooden beams.

Still, there had been a level of contentment she hadn't felt in years – maybe ever – in falling asleep in her little boat-bed, tucked in under her mother's shawl and blanket, safe in the shadow of the Great Tamatoa. She'd started a fire in the brazier she'd crafted years ago from one half of an enormous clam-shell, dragged to the middle of the grotto so the smoke could spiral lazily through the hole in the ceiling. She'd roasted a fish that Tamatoa had spared her – "a waste of a perfectly good snack," as he'd put it – and she'd listened as he talked all night.

"Where did you find that?" she'd asked, pointing to one or another piece of the limited treasure still encrusting his shell. And he'd tell her the story: at turns gloating, gleeful, or vaguely nostalgic. He spoke of his victories over other monsters, over humans who had invaded his homes or hunted him down. His voice would purr low with ominous threat, or rise high with excitement or mockery. Most often, he spoke of his own magnificence, as if trying to remind or convince her. He'd kept going until her questions grew fuzzy and disjointed with sleepiness, and she thought perhaps – right before she drifted off – that she'd felt the cool, ridged edge of his claw ghost over her forehead, pushing back the wild cloud of her dark hair.

She'd found the world around her moving once again when she awoke. Stretching, she watched the leafy branches above, the occasional monster peering downward in curiosity, the enormous fish swimming above in the watery sky. Tamatoa was humming under his breath beneath her, and she stretched lazily. Her muscles still ached, though they felt better by far, and she pillowed her head with her hands, smiling at the sky as she listened.

Of course, it would not be safe to get too comfortable, she reasoned. Though Tamatoa had not threatened her – in fact, he'd been as kind as she thought he might know how to be – her mother had always told her he was fickle, that his moods could change in an instant, that he need only perceive some mild and unintended insult to exact a terrible vengeance.

 _Your mother also smashed three tiny monster-bird eggs that were small enough to fit in your palm, for fear they'd grow up to eat you,_ her brain reminded her, and she winced. Her mother had been fierce and strong, had taken no chances. She'd sacrificed every gentle thing inside herself to protect her small and precious daughter, and though she'd loved her child's soft-heartedness, she'd feared it, too.

Still, it would be a test, she decided. Of both her and Tamatoa. Could he be trustworthy? And would she be able to tell if and when he was?

Her mother might say it wasn't worth the gamble, but when she thought of her life over the past few years – so alone, and so lonely – she couldn't believe her mother's words. What was the point, really, without anyone? Her mother had been able to take care of a child, to love and raise another person. But now that her mother was dead, what did she have? No-one to talk to, no-one to laugh with, no-one to love.

She thought sometimes she had been made to love others, which made her lifelong exile in Lalotai that much more unbearable. Her mother had rarely told stories of her life in the human world, but she knew that the older woman had been a leader in her community, a beacon of vitality, a person who had laughed and loved and played. Sometimes, she saw a glimmer of that old light-heartedness in her mother; mostly, however, the idea had seemed stranger and more alien than the monsters she'd grown up with.

 _Decide now,_ she told herself, _and then remember you have to keep making the decision every day afterward. Are you willing to be a friend to the Great Tamatoa – even if it's not reciprocated?_

And then: _Your days may be numbered, but perhaps they'll at least be better days._

"I can hope for that," she whispered to herself, and sat up in her boat just as Tamatoa was ducking beneath the entrance of his old cave.

"Good morning!" she sang out, crawling to the edge of his shell as she had the day before. He half-craned his neck and eyes back to peer at her, and she smiled her brightest smile at him.

"Is it?" he asked snarkily, but he seemed almost-teasing. "You slept forever."

"We weak humans need our rest," she returned with a sassy grin.

" _And_ you snore like a drowning whale," he added, and her jaw dropped.

"I do not!" she protested, swatting at his shell playfully.

"It seems to have made you wake up in a good mood," he shot back. "Is this what I have to look forward to? If I want you to be in a good mood, I have to put up with your - your cacophonous snoring?"

She narrowed her eyes and made a face. "You – _monster."_

He broke first, chortling under his breath, and the rumbling sound melted her already-tender heart. She was _happy._ Here, with him, waking up on a gilded shell strolling beneath the trees of Lalotai, safe and surrounded by monsters, well-fed and most importantly: _not alone._ With _a friend._ Even if he didn't know it yet.

"I'm happy," she breathed wonderingly, and sighed contentedly even as she let her muscles soften, draping herself over the ridge of his shell. One arm dangled loosely over the back of his neck, dwarfed by his size but curving in a near-embrace nonetheless. She felt him tense beneath her, but she didn't move, and slowly he relaxed.

"Enough sentimentality, starfish," he purred in that low, half-dangerous voice, as if he were thinking about picking his teeth with her bones. It didn't frighten her this time, though she guessed he often used that voice when he really did mean to hurt someone. He lowered himself to the ground so she could slide off his shell, but she only bent her legs at the knees, letting them swing upward into the air as she lay sprawled on her stomach atop him. She pressed her cheek into the smooth rim of his shell, resting her head there as she watched him, utterly unguarded. "Are you gonna help me load of these treasures or not? You promised, after all." His eyes narrowed in something like mock-annoyance, and she smiled but didn't move.

"Of course I will," she said, her voice dreamy and soft. "Just one more moment."

Based on his words the other day, she thought he might not send her away or eat her when all this was done. Maybe he would let her stay, as he'd seemed to imply. Maybe she would have other mornings like this one, mornings with shared conversation, someone who called her pet names and to whom she could give all her overflowing affection, which had not had an outlet in years.

"I'd no idea humans were so slow and lazy," he said drily. "Oh wait, yes I did." He rolled his eyes and scoffed and she only smiled wider, then turned her face on impulse and pressed her forehead and mouth to the curved edge of his shell, breathing in the cold scent of him: salt water, calcium, nacre, gold.

She'd rolled to her side and slid down the edge of his shell without noticing how he'd frozen, utterly stiff and still as she began loading her arms full of golden cups overflowing with pearls and gems, silver vases brimming with jewelry and coins. "On our next trip, I should bring my basket," she told him, her eyes sifting over the piles of treasure. "I'll be able to carry more at a time – it's so interesting to me," she added, interrupting herself, "that you have such a wide range of treasures here. These –" she said, picking up some sort of strange, collar-shaped piece, twisted and studded with polished stones " – look to be made by people, but you also have pieces that are clearly natural – " and she picked up a large piece of stone laced with pieces of crystal and veins of gold.

"It's – " he cleared his throat. "It's a torc. The humanmade piece, I mean. A kind of necklace. Circa, oh – " he plucked the piece from her arms, turning it this way and that, humming distractedly " – probably 1st Century, Before Common Era. Possibly Iceni. European – you wouldn't know them here yet." A pause. "And hopefully won't for a while," he added under his breath. Most of his words made no sense to her, but she remembered him talking about slipping in and out of the present, plucking his treasures from both past and future, moving through time as easily as if it were the ocean itself.

He reached back and set the torc on his shell, clearing his throat again and not meeting her gaze at all.

"Are you all right?" she asked, confused by his odd behavior.

"I – well, yes." He cleared his throat again, then busied himself with a small mountain of treasure to the side, picking up and tossing clawfuls of trinkets onto his shell in a much more haphazard manner than she was used to. Perplexed, she walked up to him with her arms full.

"Uhm, can you bend down so I can put this on your back?" she asked worriedly.

He paused and blinked down at her. "Uh. Yeah." He knelt, and she scrambled up onto his shell, adding her armful of treasure to the mounds of jewelry and coin he'd already contributed to the gold-plated surface.

"You're much quicker at this than I am," she said, awkwardly trying to cut through his strange and preoccupied silence. "At this rate, we could be done moving all your treasure today," she added, trying to sound lighthearted.

He didn't respond, but she noticed his pace immediately halved. She ducked her head to hide a bemused, affectionate smile, and went back to filling her arms with cut crystals, polished stones, and other lovely little things. Her eyes widened and caught on a large snail-shell that had been polished down to its nacreous core, shimmering and iridescent. She balanced her items carefully, reaching for the shell. It was cold and smooth beneath her fingers, and she thought it was lovelier than any of Tamatoa's other treasures.

And then: "What _was_ that?"

She turned to find he'd stopped abruptly, and was staring at her intently, eyes narrowed.

"What was what?" she asked, trying balance her armful of treasures.

"You – you put your _mouth_ on me." He sounded shocked, scandalized, and somehow both pleased and horrified. "You breathed on me."

It was her turn to suddenly be horrified and embarrassed. Of course, she hadn't _thought._ She only knew that her mother had often pressed her lips to the top of her head when she was a child, or had leaned down to embrace her and press their foreheads together.

"It's a – a human gesture, I suppose," she said, and felt herself flushing. "Casual – impulsive, I suppose."

His head tilted, eyes slitting at her suspiciously. "What does it mean?"

She hesitated. As much as he might pretend otherwise, she'd learned over these scant few days that the Great Tamatoa was very sensitive. It took nothing to prick his pride, and though he'd respond with another show of vanity and bravado – or possibly, dangerous irritation – he was easily hurt. She'd gathered easily enough from his tone, when he spoke of Maui, that there was an old and still-open wound there.

"Tamatoa," she said slowly, moving toward him as if he were not a giant monster but instead something small and wild and skittish. "Have you never been embraced?"

His eyes narrowed, but she pressed on. "Even when you were little, and Maui was raising you?"

Cautiously, he lowered his chin to the floor, watching her warily. "I'm not an idiot. I know what an embrace is." But then his lips pulled to one side quizzically and he asked, "Was that what that was?"

"Kind of," she said, shrugging helplessly. "It was a gesture of – affection. Companionship." She chewed on her lip and shifted the treasures in her arms. "There are lots of those. Some are formal acknowledgements of shared bonds of family and community, love and respect. Some are more – spontaneous, and fluid. At least," she added, "that's what my mother told me."

Tamatoa was silent for a long moment, studying her with eyes as large as her torso. She shifted her armful of treasures again and said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted so impulsively."

"Why did you?" he asked abruptly. "Were you overwhelmed by my beauty?" The question was half-mocking, but she could hear the honest question underneath, the insecurity she was growing to know so well.

She sighed, and carefully set down the trinkets – all but the nacreous shell, which was as large as her face. She cradled it in her hands, and traced the cold, silky lines of the iridescent spiral. It was luminous, and it gave her something to focus on other than his scrutinizing gaze.

"You know," she said quietly, "I think I was." She looked up, and the light from the shell and the gold around her reflected in her eyes – and she could see herself, reflected in his. "But not because of your gold or your treasures." She chewed her lip once more. "You _are_ beautiful, Tamatoa. I've never seen such lovely colors except in dreams. And you do shine. But the last few days – " She shrugged. "Tamatoa, this morning I was happy," she said, her voice straining between immense patience and softness and a strange sense of urgency. "You've been – kind, in your way. And generous. Thoughtful, when you've wanted to be. Your stories have made me less lonely. I was so _glad_ to be in your company. That's a kind of beauty too, and it's worth more to me than – _this – "_ and she gestured with the shell to themountains of metal and stone around them.

His eyes grew even narrower, which she had not thought possible. He scoffed and sneered. "Oh, for the love of – starfish, don't tell me that _you're_ gonna get on some soapbox about _inner beauty_ or whatever because I gotta tell you, _that_ nonsense is not real. If your mother fed you some line about that, she was a _liar – "_

"Tamatoa," she interrupted, and took a step closer toward him – dangerously near to his teeth, his mouth. She was intimately aware of his claws, hovering just a scant distance away. "I haven't met anyone but you and my mother in my whole life. But I can't imagine a person who wants to be _seen_ as badly as you do."

She opened her arms wide, trying to take in his immense size, his resonant voice, his singing and strutting, his sparkling shell, his rolling hills of treasure.

"You want to be seen so much that you _glow,_ Tamatoa. Everything about you is _dazzling._ But in the end, it's all just a distraction."

She stepped even nearer now, her eyes wide and intent, her hands sweeping back together to cradle the shimmering snail-shell to her chest. "Well, _I_ am starting to see you. I _like_ what I see. And I would like it even without the – the glittering exterior." She offered a lopsided smile, and she hoped with everything in her that he could see and trust the sincerity there. "I want to see more of you. I want to know you."

She reached one hand, palm out and hovering just over the space where his nose would be. She knew, in the dark, he had a bioluminescent stripe there, and her hand was close enough that she was sure he could feel the heat from her skin. For a moment, she wondered if his eyes had softened, but his expression was hard to read when she was so close.

There was a long silence, and then Tamatoa shifted – just slightly – bumping the slope of his face against her open palm for a brief second before drawing back up to his full height and moving away.

"I already said I'm not gonna eat you, starfish," he sulked. "You don't have to try to win me over."

She closed her fingers over her palm, trying to retain the feeling of smooth coolness, the intimacy of the brief contact. After a moment, she folded her arm back in, still anchoring the shell against her heart.

"You like that seashell?" Tamatoa asked abruptly, changing the subject in spite of the fact that she was still a bit dazed. He was watching her from the corner of his eye, and she looked down at the glossy spiral in her hands.

"I do," she said, following his lead. "I don't know why. It feels more natural than some of these other things, I suppose." She smiled, but it quivered on her mouth. She didn't know why she felt so undone by their exchange, by the smoothness of his face pressed against her hand. She wondered if this was how he'd felt when she'd pressed her own face against the edge of his shell, if this was why he'd been so flabbergasted and perplexed. "It's lovely, but simple. And, I don't know – " she traced the silky spiral again, feeling the cold glassiness beneath her fingertips. She'd have liked to stroke it against her cheek, if it wouldn't have seemed strange. "It reminds me of you, somehow."

He hummed noncommittally, then offered, "You can have it if you want. It's not worth much, all things considered. I have prettier trinkets." His voice was dismissive, but there was something in it that she couldn't place – a sense of watchfulness, of guarded vulnerability.

She licked her lips and managed a stronger smile. "The Great Tamatoa, giving gifts of his treasured prizes?" she teased gently, but she turned the shell in her hands lovingly, and let her eyes soften. "Thank you. I can imagine how – rare such a gift is. It will be precious to me forever."

He let out a breath of air somewhere between a sigh and a grunt and turned his back to her, rummaging again through his piles of coin and treasure, loading them onto his gold-plated shell without sparing her another glance.

But a few moments later, she heard him humming and singing beneath his breath, and she thought he sounded happy.


	6. Chapter 6

Summary: Unpolished, unedited, just-for-fun drabbles, with no goal in mind. A nameless girl meets Tamatoa. '"Time for a most-delicious snack for my most-delightful self," he leered, and she heard again her mother's voice: Your empathy will get you killed down here, daughter.'

Loves, I want to apologize in advance for any mistakes (of which I am sure there are many) that I made in describing our heroine's earth-oven. I did as much research as I could, but I am sure there are intricacies to creating and using the oven that I am unaware of. I am trying to be respectful to the cultures and time depicted in the movie, and navigate all the different Polynesian traditions represented while also understanding that they have been blended together in this fictional, fairy-tale world (further complicated by this character's isolation from her family, people, and community). If anyone has any concerns or feedback regarding my depiction of these cultural and historical elements, I would gratefully accept them.

* * *

They could have moved all of his treasure in one day – she had been surprised that they didn't. She had thought he might be anxious, leaving all his gold unguarded. When she had asked him, he had scoffed and told her that most monsters had no eye for lovely things, and those that did were too afraid of him to frequent the wilds around his old cave.

"They don't know I've left yet," he'd reasoned. "And besides, the smart ones know that if I saw so much as a pearl out of place, I'd make myself a snack of the bite-sized beast." And he'd showed all his teeth.

She'd pondered his words while he fastidiously arranged the treasure they already transported, fussing with which trinkets were placed exactly where. He had brought in a large, smooth stone at some point while she'd been sleeping and had placed it near the enormous seashell brazier, and though he didn't say a thing – didn't even acknowledge its sudden appearance – she'd made herself a seat of it. Now she leaned back on her hands and felt the stone beneath her fingers and palms, warmed from the heat of the fire. The nacreous snail-shall he'd given her sat tucked against her hip. In the fire, the fish roasted slowly, next to a small pile of taro corms from the tiny pond field outside the grotto. She'd cultivated the field herself, thanks to the freshwater spring and the underground river it fed.

She'd watched as Tamatoa fussed for the majority of the evening with his small mountain of treasures. He would rearrange the cascade of glittering coins, pluck a jeweled shield from one side and add it to the other, then draw away and tilt his head and squint before returning to reposition it.

"What are you trying to accomplish?" she'd asked mildly at one point, between her bites of dinner.

He'd huffed. "Maximum sparkle, babe." He'd cut his eyes at her from the side, and something in his gaze had been appraising as she sprawled in the firelight, draped on his gift of smooth stone.

"But the light changes throughout the day," she'd said curiously. She'd looked down at her own piece of treasure, luminous and iridescent in the firelight, and pulled the large shell into her lap. Her fingers traced its contours. "Surely, the – the best placement also changes."

He'd paused in his work then and turned to face her directly. She'd seen his eyes flicker to the fire, then back to her. He studied her hair, then her eyes. She'd felt herself flush with self-consciousness at the sudden scrutiny.

"It does," he said at last. "That's why I change it up all the time."

She'd blinked, then stared back. "You mean – you do this all day?"

He'd clicked his claws together in something like a shrug. "Well, sometimes I sleep. I eat. Or I go look for more treasures, when I hear about something shiny hidden somewhere." Then, almost defensively, "What else would I be doing?"

And she'd stayed quiet then, remembering his few brief stories of his friendship with Maui, the adventures they'd gone on together when they were younger and smaller. She imagined them at the edge of the water in the daytime, exploring reefs and caverns. She imagined them laughing by the fire at night, or singing songs.

"Oh, Tamatoa," she'd breathed. She knew loneliness, oh, very well indeed.

And he'd scoffed and turned back to his pile of trinkets, and she'd watched the little dazzles of light that they caught from the fire and threw on his face, his claws, his glimmering shell. His deliberate, rhythmic movements had lulled her, and when the embers in the brazier grew low, his bioluminescence began to softly glow. Her eyelids had grown heavy as her crystalline home, so familiar, became awash in faint glimmers of pink and blue light.

She'd woken briefly in the night as the world moved beneath her, and was vaguely aware of Tamatoa lifting her with one enormous and still-surprisingly delicate claw. She thought dazedly that she would never cease being startled by the precision of his great claws, or their unexpected gentleness. Over the days, she'd not so much as been bruised by him, in spite of his size.

"You're kind, Tamatoa," she murmured muzzily in her half-sleep. "You're so careful with me."

He'd snorted, and she'd found herself being nestled into the blanket in her boat. She half-sat up in vague half-protest.

"My shell," she said, and almost before the words were finished she felt the glassy coldness of the snail shell brushing into her outstretched palms. She all but embraced the treasure, burrowing into her bed, and she heard him chuckle. The sound seemed to rise up all around her and it was then, already halfway back to sleep, that she realized he had never taken her bed off his back. Through slitted, drowsy eyes, she saw his plated shell all around her.

"Not a pearl out of place," she heard him murmur smugly beneath his breath.

By the time she woke again, she'd forgotten she'd heard anything at all.

This time, when morning came, the world around her was still. She stretched and opened her eyes, staring up at the glittering arc of the grotto ceiling, the crystal-crusted stalactites, the moon-shaped hole that opened to an oceanic sky. Flocks of fish swirled dreamily overhead, and watery ribbons of light shifted across the sparkling floor. She could hear the spring bubbling and echoing in its stone alcove, and the slow, deep breaths of Tamatoa beneath her.

* * *

She vaguely recalled him lifting her into her boat, still anchored to his shell despite the fact that they had not left the grotto. She hadn't realized he would keep her there – that he would want her there – without reason. She reminded herself that perhaps he only kept her on his back as a means of keeping her caged, however invisibly.

But she didn't think so.

She crawled out of her bed, standing carefully on the plated gold and scattered coins, and stretched. Her snail shell had found a home on the low seat of her boat-bed at some point in the night. She let her fingers linger on the cold, silky lines as she swept past and climbed to the edge of his shell. Quietly, as gently as she could, she murmured, "Are you awake?"

He chuckled immediately, and it rocked him enough that she dropped abruptly to her knees, worried about staggering and falling from the great height.

"I don't sleep like you do, babe." He craned his neck and eyes around to smirk at her. "Flimsy little humans, needing rest every few measly hours. I'll sleep if I'm bored, or for fun, but I can stay awake for years. Perks of being a monster." And he grinned. "Besides, I'm more nocturnal than anything. This active-during-the-day garbage is just because I know what a delicate, delectable little shrimp you are."

She rolled her eyes but smiled in spite of herself. "You know we don't have to be running around during the day, right? I don't tend to go out at night on my own, but that's only because everything else in Lalotai sees better in the dark than I do. With you, though?" She shrugged and smiled her most-bright smile at him. "Nothing would dare bother me."

He smirked. "That's sweet, starfish, but I know your kind. You're useless in the dark. You'd probably go wandering into something's open mouth, thinking it was a cave. Not worth the hassle," he added, but she thought she could see right through him.

"Well then," she said, with a smile, "should we go now, since there's plenty of light? I think we can finish –"

He shifted beneath her. "Nah," he interrupted, his eyes sliding away from her and facing forward again. "I'd rather work on what we've already got here. We can make another trip tomorrow."

She blinked. "But – are you sure?"

"Yeah, babe," he said gruffly. "I want to get this pile right – "

"But you said you change it throughout the day anyway. And –"

He was scowling now – she could tell even though his great eyes were turned away from her – and she didn't think it was playful anymore. She fell silent, hesitant.

"Tamatoa," she murmured at last, when he didn't say anything. She reached out and placed her hand on the side of his neck very lightly. His eyes canted sideways at her. "You don't have to procrastinate." She chewed her lip. "I won't leave until you want me to."

He reared back so quickly that she had to slap both hands on the edge of his shell and cling to it. Through her shock she could hear him sputtering indignantly, a jumble of half-formed thought-processes and protests. She gripped the edge of his shell as he gestured wildly, and she anchored her body hard against him and gritted her teeth. Her own bodily safety was her utmost priority right now, but underneath it, her heart ached. How many centuries – or longer – had he spent being so afraid of abandonment that he couldn't even acknowledge it? She pressed her face into the edge of his shell, both from fear of his flailing as well as an impossible, pervasive need to offer him some sort of comfort.

His wild movements slowed abruptly, and he lowered himself back to the ground. Tentatively, then:

"Starfish?"

"Hey," she said shakily, her face and torso pressed tightly against his shell. Her lips brushed against him as she spoke. "You done now?"

He blustered, but remained still, and the nonsensical muttered were more quiet than before. Cautiously, she eased herself up to her elbows.

When he fell silent again, she said, "I have no idea what you were saying for most of that. But," she hastened to add when she heard him suck in a breath to speak, "you don't have to say anything. It's fine. I wanted to cook today anyway." She reached out with one trembling hand and briefly, lightly stroked it over his neck, then rolled away and slid off his shell.

Her knees almost gave out from nerves when she reached the ground, but she stood strong and began striding toward the entrance. "You can come with me if you like," she tossed over her shoulder. "Maybe bring me a fish, if you can!" She tried to make the challenge light and playful, but her voice quivered at the end from the adrenaline that had drained away.

Her mother had built a semi-permanent umu outside of their old home before she herself could remember. They would clear, reuse, and maintain the oven pit for long periods of time. The older woman had taught her daughter how deep to dig, and what kinds of rocks to use. Lalotai did not grow the same kinds of trees her mother had been used to on her island, but the older woman had experimented in the first months before her daughter's birth and had found certain enormous monster-flowers whose gigantic, woody stalks would burn and smoke for the necessary length of time to heat the stones.

She had a sheltered stack of cut stalks already waiting to one side. She always kept a supply of them handy for fire in the grotto and, when it had still been standing, outside her little hut. She estimated that there were still enough to begin heating the stones, especially since her oven was so much smaller than her mother's had been. There had never been a need for anything larger, though her mother had told her stories of celebrations where whole families had been fed, even up to hundreds of villagers. They had been some of her favorite stories while she was growing up: waiting for food from the umu had been so exciting, and so rare because of the in-depth process it often involved, even with an oven that was kept clean of ash, and covered, and largely ready-to-use. As a child, she'd tried to imagine what it would be like to have so much food to feast upon, to try the meals of chicken and pork her mother had described, to hear the laughter and songs of people all around her and know that they, too, were waiting for the earth and leaves and wet cloths to be pulled back. She had imagined that they all collectively breathed in the smell of the seasoned meat and vegetables together, sharing the air in a moment of gratitude and community. In her daydreams, there were children her age, and they were her friends.

Now, she knew that she could never really comprehend what it was like to share food with people the way her mother had described. And she knew her childish imaginings had probably been overly simple, and unrealistic. Nevertheless, as a small and lonely child, it had been the story she told herself at night after the fire burned low. So, although the process took hours, she still used her little umu from time to time, when she wanted to feel less lonely.

She thought, perhaps – though she doubted Tamatoa would eat something she cooked in her small oven when he could just as easily lure in an entire shoal of fresh, live fish – perhaps, it would be nice to share her meal with a friend after all.

The fire was burning hotly. Along with the flower stalks, she kept a supply of thin monster-hide from her mother, which she now left soaking where the spring-fed river bubbled out of the ground. From her stores, she pulled a basket she had made for her next oven-made meal, and two enormous, rootlike vegetables. Then she paused expectantly, and sure enough, she heard him finally striding from the cage. He clicked against the stony earth and hard ground as he approached.

"Here's your fish," he said blandly. She smiled with her back still to him, then turned just in time for him to lay a massive silver-scaled creature across her forearms.

She staggered under the unexpected weight of it – it was larger than the fish he'd given her before. She hoped it would fit in her small oven after she cleaned it. "Are you sharing this with me after I cook it?" she challenged lightly, and he blinked at her, then rolled his eyes dramatically.

"I suppose," he groused, but she could see he was pleased by the invitation.

Nevertheless, she couldn't resist prodding him a bit. "Even though it won't be raw? And will be less than a bite for you?"

He slanted his eyes sideways to her. "I'll manage, babe." He curled his legs beneath him, lowering himself to the ground to study her as she worked. The fire was burning; she'd set the fish to one side on a smooth, waist-high boulder she'd cleaned earlier. It barely managed to fit, the silvery tail dangling down one side. Sitting with a plank of wood on her knees, she began cutting the root vegetables. They were enormous, and native to Lalotai, but her mother had claimed they tasted and cooked similar to the traditional potatoes and carrots eaten on the islands above. As she worked, she layered the food into the basket.

"Why don't you tell me a story while I cook for us?" she said mildly.

He hummed noncommittally. "What story, starfish?"

"Mmm, whatever you want. I was curious," she added cautiously, "about what happened with Maui the other day, that ended with you so – indisposed."

He scowled. "Ugh. He came to get his hook."

She blinked. "You had his hook?"

He smirked as he watched her. "Sure did, babe. I'd heard he'd lost it in a battle with an earth-demon made of lava and fire. So I threatened and bribed a lot of monsters and beasts and people who had or didn't have information, and who were able to go where I couldn't – scour the ocean floor, survive underwater longer than I can. It took decades." He bared his teeth in a grin. "I ate some of 'em."

"Why – why did you want it so badly?"

He blew a sigh from between his lips and looked skyward. "He took a lot from me."

"Your treasure?" she asked, but she knew that wasn't what he was referring to.

"No," he admitted reluctantly. "Not that." The silence went on for ages, but she only continued working silently, patiently, her eyes turned away from him. Then, in his own time, he said. "He was my friend. He gave me –companionship. A home."

"Belonging," she murmured.

He rolled his eyes. "Ugh. Yeah, I guess." A pause. "Coconut crabs aren't supposed to have those things," he sulked."When we're larvae we just float around the ocean. We don't have – loved ones. Friends. We don't live in communities of other crabs. Other than mating, we never have anything to do with each other. If a crab enters another crab's cave, they basically just signed themselves up to be dinner. That's how coconut crabs are. I mean, coming to Lalotai was the first time I met any of my family."

Her ears perked up. "You have family here?"

He showed his teeth again. "Had, babe. My father's mother. She was almost as gigantic as I am now, and a mean old robber-crab." He slitted his eyes at her. "I ate her."

She swallowed.

"I know, I know," he said, waving one claw airily. "You humans frown on eating relatives. Well, coconut crabs eat everything. And besides – she deserved it." He rolled his eyes again. "Spare me the lecture."

"I wasn't going to lecture you," she said mildly.

He grunted and let his eyes follow her as she began cleaning the fish. "Well. Whatever. The point is, I had all these things that crabs and monsters are not supposed to have, and Maui took them away." A scowl. "And my leg. He took that too."

She cast a glance over her shoulder, remembering when she'd first seen him belly-up, and the missing leg that had tugged at her heart.

"Well," Tamatoa conceded abruptly, "he tore it off. I ate it."

She felt her eyes grow round but only stared dutifully at the fish as she cut it.

"Well, hey,' he protested. "It wasn't going to do me any good, unattached and all."

She paused in her work then, looking up at him sternly a brandishing a handful of fish-meat at him. "You better keep yourself well-fed, Tamatoa." She shook the raw filet at him, half-joking but also deadly serious. "I mean it. I'm not doing all this – and trusting you – so you can decide you're peckish the minute I get a sprained ankle, or you're feeling like you need some alone-time."

She had expected him to make a face, or scoff, or even take indignant offense. Perhaps make a joke. Instead, he only met her gaze intently, until she lowered her handful of fish. For a moment, she felt like he was taking her apart and looking at everything inside of her: her fears, her loneliness, her – well, her love for him. She wondered if this was how he felt when she'd responded to the thoughts he knew he had but that he hadn't vocalized.

Very quietly, and with more solemnity than she'd ever heard from him, he said, "I am not going to eat you, starfish."

She had intended to stay still and quiet, even as he continued to gaze at her watchfully. But something about his words, or his tone – or maybe his stare – made her lip quiver, and the skin around her eyes tighten. She was surprised to feel her eyes fill with tears.

She breathed in sharply and turned away, trying to wipe her face with the back of one forearm, fish still dripping from her grip.

"So," she reminded him abruptly, her eyes focused entirely on the meat before her. "Maui came for his hook."

Tamatoa hummed. "Sure did. Brought his own little human with him." He squinted one eye at her. "If you'd been a few days earlier, he would've taken you back upstairs, babe."

"Upstairs?" she repeated blankly, before realizing he was talking about the world above Lalotai. For a moment she paused in her work, imagining what it would be like to see the sun in the sky, the moon, the stars her mother had spoken of. To be on top of the waves instead of under them. To be with other humans, hear their laughter, share their breath and their homes and their work and their meals. She stomped down on the thought, a shuddery sigh escaping her. It was too late now. "Ah, but then," she said lightly, "I wouldn't be here with you. And my life would be smaller for it."

He made a pleased noise and settled in closer to the ground, watching her through lazy, half-lidded eyes. "He wanted his hook back. He would have wanted it back no matter what. And the girl who was with him – " He made a strangled noise. "She had the Heart of Te Fiti. I don't know why or how, but she had the Heart of Te Fiti and I think she was trying to make him help her return it." A pause. He sounded almost half-asleep – in spite of the tension she imagined must be part of his long history with Maui, he seemed content. "I wanted it. But I wanted to kill him more," Tamatoa admitted. "I wanted to hurt him the way – well, I wanted to hurt him. I was going to eat him but more than that, I wanted him to feel alone at the end. So he would know." Another pause. "So he would know what it was like."

She heard him shift behind her as she began seasoning the fish, adding it to the basket. A low purr nearly rumbled the ground beneath her feet.

"I let myself be distracted. Or maybe – " a grumble of irritation. " – Maybe I wanted to be distracted. Either way...the girl showed me something - beautiful. Luminous. It was the Heart. All that power."

She nodded. Her mother had told her of the Heart on two separate occasions, but only two: once when she was recounting the story of creation, and one when she was describing why Maui had disappeared. How surprised her mother would be to know that her daughter had almost run into them: the exiled demigod, the Heart of the Mother Island.

"I'd hunted for it before. Almost as - devotedly as I'd hunted for his stupid hook. I'd wanted it for so long." His voice was dreamy, wistful. "And it was right – right there. In my own home."

"Why?" she interrupted gently. "Why would you want the Heart so badly?"

His eyes focused on her and a little grin played at the corner of his enormous mouth. "You wouldn't want it? The power to create life, little fish?"

It was an easy answer, but she thought there was something more. Nevertheless, she played along and shrugged. "What good would that do me?"

He hummed. "An endless supply of fish?" She rolled her eyes and smiled at him over her shoulder, and he chuckled at his own joke. "Look, babe, this isn't rocket science."

"What is rocket sci –"

"If you can control and create life, you control and create people. If they make you happy, you reward them. You make their lives easy." A brief, dark look. "And you can keep them from going against you. From even trying." She cast another sideways look at him and he mumbled something half-heartedly under his breath. "Well, take this, for example. If you could create life, you'd never be lonely."

"Ahhh," she said with gentle humor. "So that's what this is about. Fighting off loneliness."

He scowled. "I meant, for you."

"Mmm-hmm," she said agreeably, and he glowered.

"You could create a family down here. A village. Or little – pets, if you wanted them. If you could control life, you could probably even find a way out of here."

"No, thank you," she said primly, moving to collect the wet hide from the river and tuck it tightly into the basket, covering the mountain of fish and root vegetables. When she looked up, he was eyeing her quizzically.

"Why not?"

She smiled crookedly and rocked back on her heels. "Tamatoa, it would be wonderful to have other people around me, to be part of a community. At least, I think it would be. It's something I've always wanted." A shrug, and she met his gaze squarely. "But you're responsible for what you create." She chewed her lip. "It will need you."

He reared back just a little, looking horrified. "That's not true."

She nodded earnestly. "It is, Tamatoa." She smiled. "Not everything is a coconut crab larva. If you give something life, you have to tend to it."

"But – "

"I am very lucky," she interrupted smoothly, "in that I have a friendship with you. We created that – you and I. We gave life to it."

"Friendship is a strong word, babe," he scoffed, but she could tell he was pleased.

"And now we're responsible for taking care of it," she finished. "Intentionally, and with kindness and – and forgiveness. And generosity." She smiled tentatively, hopefully.

His lower lip jutted stubbornly, almost pouting. "Well. I wouldn't have to. If I created life, I would be powerful. I would be – obeyed and remembered and – and adored. And I wouldn't have to give anything back or take care of anything. I could just – let go. And punish the ones who got on my nerves."

She shook her head and turned back to her work, checking the heat from the stones and clearing out some more ash, careful to avoid burning herself. Carefully, she settled the basket into the pit, layering the wet hide over with enormous leaves to protect it from dirt, and then sealing it into the oven with earth. She smiled up at him from next to the oven, dusting her hands off. "Well then," she said softly. "Now we wait. I'll have to stay out here, though," she added apologetically. "I wouldn't want anything to get loose, or catch fire, or burn."

He narrowed his eyes. "Is this some sort of metaphor?"

Her smile grew wider and brighter, and sweeter. But she said nothing.

* * *

My unfortunately-limited research on the umu included diagrams of umu and the Maori hangi, photos of them in use, multiple descriptions of how to cook in them (all of which seemed similar and consistent, if more or less detailed - at least to the untrained eye), and a trip to a fortuitously-timed Maori cultural festival that allowed me to try some food cooked in this way (wowwowwowwow).

To be honest, I am not sure that these earth ovens would typically be used for as few as one or two people. It's an intensive process that requires a lot of knowledge and skill and time, and most of what I read seemed to imply that this was a technique often used for feeding family gatherings or community celebrations (one article I read mentioned a hangi that fed up to 850 people!). However (in addition to possibly being wrong or misinterpreting the documents), I thought our heroine's mother, missing her home and her people, might sometimes try to recreate this traditional method of cooking in order to share as much of her heritage as possible with her daughter.


	7. Chapter 7

Summary: Unpolished, unedited, just-for-fun drabbles, with no goal in mind. A nameless girl meets Tamatoa. '"Time for a most-delicious snack for my most-delightful self," he leered, and she heard again her mother's voice: _Your empathy will get you killed down here, daughter.'_

* * *

She'd never been happier with a meal than she was with the previous night's dinner – perhaps, in part, because even Tamatoa had seemed charmed by the seasoned fish and vegetables. He'd lingered over what should have been a one-bite snack for as long as it had taken her to eat her entire share. The rest of the evening had passed without incident – she and Tamatoa had sat outside in the warmth, just beyond the coolness of the grotto entrance, and peppered a companionable silence with stories and questions while they waited for oven to do its work.

She liked talking to him. To be honest, she would have liked talking to anything – a baby monster, herself, the spirit of her mother, inanimate objects. But this was the first time in years she'd spoken to someone who could speak back, the first time in her life she had held a conversation with someone other than her mother.

It was challenging, sometimes. He had a different sense of humor than her mother, different cues. And he used strange words sometimes, and spoke of things she had no context for. He was sensitive about a number of topics, quick to take offense and withdraw or sulk, in need of comforting but too defensive to admit it – whereas her mother had never been sensitive about anything at all. Still, she'd learned earnestness and authenticity from a woman who had no patience for dissembling, and she'd learned compassion and insight from the same woman, who – in spite of her fear and protectiveness – had secretly treasured her daughter's softness.

The older woman had loved her island, and her community – and doing the right thing had resulted in it all being stripped away. She had never seen her sweetheart again. She had never seen her village, or the shore she'd grown up on. She had struggled to survive on her own, and had been forced to decide what to do when she realized she was pregnant and alone in Lalotai. She'd labored in silence, biting on a piece of monster-hide she'd scavenged from the remains of a beast slaughtered by its peers. As much as she had warned her little daughter against such tenderness, she desperately needed and wanted some of it back in her life.

And now, here that same softhearted daughter was, winning over the Great Tamatoa with nothing more than - well, patience. And perhaps, though he'd never say so, he was also found habits of hers endearing: her way of affectionately watching him rearrange his treasure until she fell asleep. Her eagerness for his stories, and her willingness to share her own. The way she curled around the nacreous snail-shell while she slept, cuddling it to herself as if he'd given her a soft toy instead of a cold spiral of calcium.

Days and nights passed in a haze of contentment and camaraderie, mundane chores and awkward moments. They'd travelled to and from the old cave. They'd gathered treasure, and transported it, and rearranged it. They ate fresh fish every night. She laughed more than any other time she could remember.

Today, she was perched on the edge of his shell, eating a berry as they approached the cave ahead. Over the last few days, it had largely been emptied, but there was one or two more trips that they could make. She had not realized, before, how large his home was, how many baubles and jewelry and gems had been collected in its chambers and tiers.

"Eugh," he muttered, sounding disgusted as he paused outside the cave. "What is that?"

"What is what?" she asked curiously, resting one palm on his shell beside her thighs.

"That smell." His lip was curled dramatically, and he looked revolted. "I can still smell – ew – _demigod_ everywhere."

"Hmmm," she mused thoughtfully, licking the berry-juice from the fingers on her other hand. "Is it just left over from when Maui was here last? Or do you think he's still around?" She paused. "Or do you think it's someone else?"

Tamatoa sniffed, then winced. "Oh, it's definitely him. And he smells…close."

She felt her heart speed up. She curled her fingers over the edge of his shell. "What do you want to do?" she asked cautiously.

He hesitated. "I'm not – "

"Tamatoa!"

The great crab rolled his eyes. "Well, for –"

"I'm here to finish this, once and for all!"

They both turned and lifted their eyes. It was the first time she had seen Maui, and she was stunned. He looked nothing like her mother had described.

Her mother had spoken of a figure of great spirit and human dignity, whose clear eyes communicated his profound dedication to releasing his fellow people from all manners of bondage. He had been beyond reproach in his morality and his vision for liberation for all. He had been a hero.

This man was impressive, standing above them on an outcropping of rock. He was heavily-muscled, and had his own curious and expressive sort of beauty. But he looked exhausted, and his eyes were half-wild with pain and outrage.

The giant hook in his hand looked charred, and part of it had cracked.

It took only a second longer for Tamatoa to register Maui's vulnerability, and he almost cackled with glee. "Well, well, well, little Maui. What are you doing back here? And with a broken hook, no less?"

He chuckled and advanced. Maui was breathing heavily, but he didn't move.

"Tell me, squishy little semi-god. Are you hiding another human somewhere? Ready to trick me again? Or come out and ambush me?" The crab reared back and she had to cling to his shell at the sudden, strange incline. "I won't be tricked so easily this time." He bared his terrible teeth, stretching for the demigod, trying to reach him with his giant claws. But though Maui might have been weakened by his cracked hook and whatever strange grief was tormenting him, he had the advantage of very high ground.

"No," Maui said through clenched teeth. "It's just me this time."

Tamatoa was grinning maliciously. She'd never seeing this level of menace on his face before. "Oh, did she leave you too? Poor little mini-god." His voice dripped with poison. "It's hard to be so unlovable, so forgettable, isn't it? No matter how much you try to do, they'll never love you – "

"Tamatoa," she whispered.

"Why don't you come down here, little Maui, and let me take care of it for you?"

"I'm done with you," Maui hissed. "I'm done with you – _haunting_ me."

"Oh, ho ho!" Tamatoa laughed, and leered. "Now your failures and shortcomings are somehow my fault? You've always been quick to lay the blame on everyone else, Maui, but that's rich even coming from you."

"Tamatoa!" she said sharply, and the monster froze beneath her. She saw the moment that Maui registered her presence: his eyes zeroed in on her, his eyebrows lifted, and she saw his mouth move as he murmured something unheard beneath his breath. His hook half-lowered.

She cleared her throat and tried to sound stern. "Tamatoa, if you're going to fight him, please put me somewhere safe first." She glared at Maui and crossed her arms. "And you. I don't know what's made you come in here so angry and determined to pick a fight, but it's clear you don't even _want_ to be here."

The demigod's jaw dropped. "I – I'm Maui, Hero of All – "

She waved a hand recklessly. "I know who you are, but you still don't want to fight." She screwed up her face and squinted at him: his pained expression, his pursed mouth and clenched jaw, the way his muscles almost spasmed with tension and strain. She let her voice soften. "You want someone to tell you things are okay. You want someone to tell you that _you_ are okay." She tilted her head. "You want your old friend back."

He visibly deflated, his cracked hook lowered until the curved edge rested against the rock formation he was perched on.

Tamatoa chortled merrily. "She _did_ leave you – "

"No," Maui interrupted fiercely. "I left _her."_

There was a moment of silence, and then Tamatoa dropped back to his normal position, no longer rearing up to reach the demigod. His lids lowered contemptuously, and his voice dropped dangerously. "Of _course_ you did," he purred knowingly, taking a few steps back. She knew that the gesture was as much to remove her from any direct physical conflict as it was to get a better look at Maui. The crab eyed him measuringly. "She trusted you to help her on whatever her silly little quest was, and you left her." He clicked his claws and sneered. "Yup, that all checks out. Tell me, little Maui, did you at least leave her in once piece? Or did you manage to maim and mutilate her, too?" He hissed through clenched teeth. "You've had, what, two friends in the course of millennia, and you abandoned _both_ of us."

" _Enough!"_ Maui roared, and leapt from the stony outcropping, raising his hook over his head.

" _Stop!"_ she screamed, throwing herself as far forward as she could without losing her balance.

"Babe - !" Tamatoa twisted sideways, trying to ensure she was out of the line of attack, keeping one eye on her and one craned toward Maui.

The demigod bounced harmlessly off Tamatoa's guarding claw. Girl and monster watched, soundlessly, as he slid through the dirt and sand.

"Now I'm really angry," the giant crab said after a moment, advancing. His left claw stayed high, half-guarding his human treasure. "I'm going to enjoy tearing apart all the sad little pieces of your heart, Maui."

"Wait," she urged, and she could almost feel him rolling his eyes.

"What, pearl?"

"Maybe – "

"Why are you even here?" Maui interrupted, dragging himself up slowly onto his hands and knees, using his hook to brace himself. She was startled to realize the question was directed at her. "How did you get down here?" He extended a shaking hand to her. "If you come with me, I can take you home."

For a moment, she was shocked into silence.

"She's my _friend,_ " Tamatoa hissed, his mouth curving in a triumphant sneer. "You'll notice that I haven't left her lying on the ground bleeding from a missing leg."

"Your friend." A tired, disbelieving laugh limped from the demigod's mouth. "Oh, okay. You have a friend. A fragile, 'squishy' little human friend."

The crab grinned nastily. "Between you and I, Maui, _I've_ had two human friends. You've only had one. And you'll notice I manage to keep mine around a little longer."

"I _am_ right here, you know," she piped in.

"You can't count _me,_ you overgrown hermit crab," Maui shot back, but his voice sounded exhausted, drained.

Tamatoa's grin grew sharper, harder. "You might be right," he purred. "Little Maui, too self-absorbed to be an actual _friend_ to anyone."

"She's not your friend, either," Maui said sharply. "I _know_ you."

"You don't know _anything –"_

"You just see her as a walking snack."

"I'm…still right here."

"She _likes_ me." Another nasty, toothy smile. "And I didn't have to lasso the sun or pull up islands to make her like me, either."

"I bet you don't even know her name."

At that, Tamatoa fell silent, casting his eyes sideways at her. She shrugged nervously and opened her palms. For a moment, she thought she should just introduce herself as Starfish. She had been charmed by the petname, and perhaps that would be enough. "I'm – "

"Aroha," Tamatoa interrupted sharply. "Her name is Aroha."

She went very still, her eyes turned to him in something like wonder. She would have never expected him to choose something so sentimental, something with such a wealth of meaning. Had he meant it? Had he been thinking about this name, of all names, for some time? Or was it simply the first thing that came to mind in the moment? It felt like her heart had broken open, and she was surprised to find it filled with light.

"Aroha," she repeated breathily.

Maui's eyes were darting back and forth between them distrustfully. "Okay, you two are _weird."_

Tamatoa shifted in the way that she knew to be a shrug.

"What if," she said slowly, "you two just….don't kill each other? Just for today."

"That sounds like a _terrible_ idea," Tamatoa said flatly, rolling his eyes so dramatically that his whole head moved.

Maui was quiet for a long moment - and then, he only sighed.

"I can cook some food," she coaxed. "We can eat here, so that we can still keep our home – private."

"I don't want to eat," Maui said tiredly.

"Rude," Tamatoa growled back at him.

"You look like you _need_ to eat," the girl – _Aroha,_ she reminded herself with a soft, deep thrill – said firmly. "Whether you want to or not. And then we can figure out how to proceed."

"Ooh! Ooh!" Tamatoa raised one claw, waving it wildly. "I vote that I proceed – to dismember him."

"It sounds like you were on your way to do something important," she said quietly to Maui, ignoring her friend for the moment. "And it sounds like your friend needs you."

The demigod's face suddenly crumpled and she sat back sharply. Tamatoa stilled, then whistled low. When he spoke, his voice was still mocking, but had been significantly subdued. "Well, that doesn't happen often," the great crab said.

Maui wiped at his face with one massive hand. His cheeks were slick with tears. "I don't know what to do."

"That doesn't mean you can just come here, make threats, and wave your stupid – and, might I add, _broken –_ hook around," Tamatoa snipped, but he sounded more uncomfortable than anything else.

"Tamatoa?" she murmured inquiringly.

He sighed. "You're kidding me, right?" It was clear he knew she wasn't. "Can I kill him tomorrow?"

She spread her open palms. "I'm not forcing you to do anything," she reminded him mildly. "I'm just asking."

He rolled his eyes and pouted. "A twenty-four hour truce," he muttered. "He gets a day."

She turned her eyes to the demigod, who looked all but broken. His shoulders shook. "Can you promise not to hurt my friend?" she asked pointedly.

"What if he attacks you?" Maui asked, almost stubbornly. He gripped his hook with both hands, but even she could see there was no heart in the gesture.

"He won't," she said simply. "I trust him."

She didn't think crabs purred, but she could almost feel Tamatoa's near-gloating pleasure at her words. She rested a hand on the side of his neck. "Can you let me down?" she asked, but rather than lowering himself like usual, he reached up with one giant claw and delicately plucked her from the rim of his shell, setting her down on the ground and bracing her until her feet were steady beneath her. She knew it was a show, intended to illustrate to Maui what a good friend he was, but she only found it vaguely endearing.

And that was how Tamatoa and Maui ended up sitting at opposite ends of the rocky field outside the cave, while the newly-named Aroha went looking for taro and vegetables. Maui at turns stared around himself like a lost child or wept, silently but brokenly. Tamatoa simply looked supremely uncomfortable, or alternatively, annoyed.

"Come, sit with me," she invited while she built a fire outside the cave, beginning to roast the vegetables and two massive fish that Tamatoa had spared them. She beckoned them both with open hands. "Tell me what happened."

And so, haltingly at first, Maui told the story: of his hubris in stealing the Heart of Te Fiti, his exile on the distant island, his salvation in the form of Moana of Motonui. How he had begun their friendship by sacrificing her so he could steal her boat. Every moment of his story was drenched with his shame. A few times she saw Tamatoa open his mouth to sneer or scoff, but the crab would look at her and see the tears in her eyes and restrain himself with a scowl.

"We tried to put it back, but Te Ka was too strong. Too much. She broke my hook."

"And so you left." Tamatoa's voice was flat.

"I was afraid," Maui said softly, staring into the fire.

"We're all afraid," Aroha said quietly, and her eyes caught Tamatoa's and held them.

The crab sighed. "Not me," he protested sulkily, but it sounded hollow.

She tucked her knees up to her chest and gripped her own toes, rocking gently. "I'm afraid of being alone."

Maui bowed his head.

"And I'm afraid nothing I do matters."

He covered his face with his hands.

"What if I never have any kind of positive impact on someone else? What if I never have a community to contribute to? What if I never connect with anyone? What if there is no meaning? What if I fail? I want to do good for people. What if I never do anything good?"

She cast a sideways glance at Maui.

"Sometimes it seems safer to hold on to whatever scraps and shreds we have. What if we risk ourselves and only succeed in making things worse for everyone? What if we lose what little hope we have left in ourselves?"

She hugged herself and looked up, across the fire, and was surprised to find Tamatoa staring at her intently. The flames reflected in his enormous eyes, and his bioluminescence was glowing faintly. There was an expression on his face that she couldn't identify beneath the flickering shadows and light: something thoughtful, and maybe a little bit sad. She managed a lopsided smile.

"Tell me about this Moana," she said only, and Maui took in a shuddering breath, looking up at the sky.

"She's a stubborn little runt," he said after a moment. "Headstrong. Reckless." He swallowed. "A fast learner. Dedicated. I've never met anyone with such a – a devotion to her vision for her people, for their safety. For her island." There were tears in the corners of his eyes as he stared upward. "She had to basically sort of – trick me, manipulate me into helping at first. But she – she saw something in me."

Tamatoa watched silently from the other side of the fire, his eyes narrowed on Maui. She was sure he wanted to say something scathing, but he kept his mouth shut for the moment.

"When I met Moana," Maui said, spreading his palms, "I was still…you know, grieving, I guess. I had spent so long trying to do these things for people, and I'd been – punished for it. Exiled. I was alone, and you're right, it was my deepest fear. We're supposed to grow up as a community, as a people who share each others' work and joy. And I was alone. Again."

"And then this girl came and saved you," she said with a soft smile, and Maui laughed sadly.

"Yeah. She did."

"You weren't always alone though," she said gently, glancing at Tamatoa again. The crab was frowning, his face shuttered and drawn.

"I mean – " Maui half-protested, then paused and sighed regretfully. "I guess I wasn't."

She sat back on the heels of her hands. "It's funny," she said mildly. "You were a human boy who was supposed to grow up with a family and a village, and Tamatoa was a little coconut crab who was supposed to grow up completely alone. And then you found each other."

"Don't make it sound more serendipitous than it was," Tamatoa growled, his voice low.

"Mm," she uttered stubbornly, shaking her head. "You learned from each other." Her eyes were dreamy and sad. "You were each other's village."

Maui swallowed. He stared back into the flames, studiously avoiding the giant crab's gaze. After a long silence, he said, "I always regretted leaving. That first time. I never stopped thinking about it."

She caught the look of shock that stumbled over Tamatoa's face, quickly masked. "And the time you took my leg?" His voice was ominous.

Maui frowned, but still didn't look up. "You were trying to kill me."

"I was trying to _scare_ you," Tamatoa said sharply.

"Well, it worked," the demigod said dryly. "Besides, if you would just _molt,_ you could grow your leg back."

"Do you know how long it took to get my shell plated with this level of treasure?" The crab sounded aghast. " _Molting._ You _would_ suggest that. You'd like to see me soft-shelled and vulnerable again." Tamatoa bared his teeth. "Besides, you _deserved_ to be deserved to feel how _I_ felt when you went away. I spent years thinking you'd come back, that you'd change your mind. I spent decades more looking for you." He snorted. "You were always about the grand gestures, trying to impress the humans. You taught me that. And when I heard you were looking for the Heart of Te Fiti – I thought, if I could get to it first – " He lapsed into an angry silence, every limb tense with resentment.

"You were just – too big," Maui said helplessly. "You were too hungry. I didn't know how to keep taking care of you. You were going to do something terrible, and I wouldn't be able to protect you from the outcome. You were gonna get yourself killed."

"And what about your ridiculous little human?" Tamatoa snapped. "What's your excuse for leaving her, _little Maui?"_

Maui opened his mouth to protest and she reached out to the demigod with one hand, halting him.

"Wait," she urged gently. "Think about what he's asking you. He deserves a real answer."

Tamatoa leaned back, settling into his crouched position. His eyes were watchful and angry, and maybe hurt.

"She – she's too stubborn. Too reckless." Maui sighed, knowing that he was about to repeat himself. "She's going to do something stupid and I won't be able to protect her. She's going to get herself killed." He closed his eyes. "I'm going to fail her."

When Tamatoa spoke over the crackling fire, his voice was tense and low.

"You failed me when you _left_."

For a moment, Maui looked up, suddenly stricken. He stared at Tamatoa, who looked back evenly.

There was a long moment of silence. The fire crackled.

"What do I do?" Maui said at last, and he sounded lost.

Tamatoa opened his mouth and caught her eyes, stopped, and sighed. After a moment, he finally said, "If she matters to you – if any of this matters to you – don't keep her waiting, man."

They sat in silence for a long time. The world grew darker, and soon the only light was from the fire itself and Tamatoa's bioluminescence. At one point, Maui rose to get more wood stalks and leaves to feed the fire.

"How are you feeling?" she asked Tamatoa, once she thought he was out of earshot.

"Hungry," the crab said moodily, then sighed. "I'm fine, babe. And you should sleep."

She chuckled and rose, walking toward him. He was still brooding, his chin resting on the ground while he stared into the dwindling flames. "You'll let him go back tomorrow?"

"As long as he doesn't give me any grief," the great crab sulked. "This time."

"He's going to go to her. And he's going to help her. You helped him to do that."

He scowled. "Believe me, starfish, I wasn't trying to help him with anything."

She smiled and reached out, placing one palm to the side of his face. Her hand was dwarfed by the size of him. "Is my name really Aroha?" she asked, shy for the first time since they'd met, and she felt him flush beneath her fingers.

"If you want it to be," he said gruffly, slanting his eyes at her.

She smiled. "How long did you have it picked out?"

He scoffed. "It was just the first thing that came to mind." A pause, and then he added reluctantly, "…a few days ago."

She smiled and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the side of his face. "I love it." She breathed in, tired but happy.

He shifted awkwardly. "Climb up, babe," he suggested, and she did, nestling into her canoes and running her fingers over the glassy snail-shell.

* * *

It was later in the night that their low voices woke her. Drowsily, she shifted beneath her monster-hide blanket, half-asleep but still listening.

"You can't keep her here forever," Maui said. Even fuzzy with leftover half-dreams, she was surprised by how low and gentle his voice sounded. "She needs people. She needs a village."

"She's been fine so far." Tamatoa's tone was flat and uncompromising.

"I know," Maui said after a moment. "And – and I really do think she likes you." A pause. "I was wrong to say you weren't friends."

Tamatoa snorted softly. "That girl could be friends with a rock. Or a slothmonster." He shuddered. "Have you seen the claws on those things?"

"But she didn't choose a rock or a slothmonster," Maui reasoned. "She chose you." Another pause. She heard a shifting, and a spray of sparks rose overhead. She imagined Maui had prodded the fire. "And you deserve to have – to have a good friend," the demigod said after a moment.

There was a stillness, and then the world around her moved as Tamatoa heaved a sigh.

"Maui, man – "

"I'm sorry," the demigod said quietly. "For leaving you, the first time. And for – for cutting off your leg."

"Good," Tamatoa shot back, his voice still low. "You should be." A shift as he resettled himself. "And I don't forgive you yet." A pause, and then, reluctantly: "Maybe someday."

"Well," Maui said slowly, a trace of humor in his voice. "I forgive you."

"For _what?"_ Tamatoa gasped, affronted.

"For trying to eat me last time."

Tamatoa snorted. "You can't forgive me for something I'm not sorry for."

"Can too."

"Ugh," the crab scoffed.

"And," Maui added quietly, "for using our friendship – all the things I told you – against me."

There was a long silence, and an uncomfortable shift.

"I'm not – I'm not good at apologizing," Tamatoa said at last, sounding irritable.

"Then it's a good thing I don't need your apology to forgive you," Maui responded lightly.

There was a pause.

"And I am _not_ sorry for trying to eat you," the crab went on stubbornly. "You deserved that."

The demigod hummed under his breath. "I hear what you're not saying, Tama."

They lapsed into a silence that felt surprisingly companionable. And then, just as she was beginning to drift back into slumber, she heard Maui speak again.

"I mean it though. It's not fair for you to keep her here." Another shower of crackles from the fire, another flare of sparks. "Let me take her back with me. I'll drop her at an island before I go back to Moana. It's been a while, but I'm sure I can find one nearby with a healthy, happy village who will be willing to take her in and make her part of the community."

"You're just determined to see me alone, aren't you?" For a moment, the monster sounded incredibly old, and incredibly tired.

A pause. "I'll visit," Maui offered.

Tamatoa chuckled darkly. "Your head's gotten even bigger than I remember if you think you'd hold a candle to her."

"That's fair," the demigod conceded reluctantly. "But Tama, she's – she's human. She's fragile."

"I can keep her safe. You're the only one who ever gives me any hassle. No-one else bothers what's mine." His voice was a growl.

"Okay," Maui conceded. "Let's say you can. Let's say nothing ever harms her, and she never gets sick or twists an ankle or needs someone to take care of her – "

"I can take care of her," Tamatoa said, and it sounded like a warning.

"Let's say all that," Maui soothed. "Tama, she's still – she's a mortal." A pause. Gently: "She's going to die."

In her bed, she curled around her snail shell, suddenly wishing she couldn't hear this after all.

"She's going to grow old and die in a – a blink of an eye, to the two of us. You could fall asleep one day for a nap and wake up to find her decades older."

The silence was palpable, and dangerous.

"She needs people," Maui said softly. "You can't deny her a life, especially when it'll be so brief."

"You want her to leave me."

Maui grunted softly. "No." A sigh. "I want you to leave her."

"I don't – what?"

"You gotta let her go, Tama. You heard her today, when she was – when she was trying to help me. She wants a community. She wants to be part of something."

The quiet dragged on for ages. She felt tears collect in the corner of her eyes, run into the hair at her temples.

"I – " Tamatoa started, then stopped. The quiet went on and on. She bit back a soft sob. "I can't," he said, and his rumbling voice cracked. "I don't want to." His tone grew harder. "No. _No,_ no _way._ I don't let go of what's mine. And I don't _leave."_

"She's not a – a coin, or a goblet," the demigod said gently.

"No," the crab said again, more quietly this time, and she wasn't sure if it was a protest or an agreement. "No. She's not. But I can't be alone again."

They returned to silence, then, and though it took a long time, Aroha eventually cried herself back to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Summary: Unpolished, unedited, just-for-fun drabbles, with no goal in mind. A nameless girl meets Tamatoa. '"Time for a most-delicious snack for my most-delightful self," he leered, and she heard again her mother's voice: _Your empathy will get you killed down here, daughter.'_

* * *

When Aroha woke up in the morning, her face was tight with leftover salt and sadness. She felt drained, and tired. She sighed, and scrubbed at her skin before crawling to the edge of Tamatoa's shell and laying a lingering hand on the side of his neck.

"Good morning," she said softly, and he slanted his eyes at her.

"You sound sad, starfish." His voice sounded tightly-controlled, and she wondered if his conversation with Maui the night before was still weighing on his mind. "What's up?"

"I – "

"Good morning!" Maui broke in, holding a large golden bowl he'd clearly snatched from the remainder of Tamatoa's treasure. The giant crab gasped and glowered as Maui tilted the bowl, showing a delicious bowlful of poi. "I made breakfast to share – no offense, Tama, but I didn't think you'd want any."

The monster sputtered his outrage. "You – that bowl is _mine –_ you've _defiled_ it – "

Maui chuckled and gestured to Aroha. "Come on down, eat up. I'm leaving soon, and I wanted to talk to you about something."

She leaned briefly against the side of Tamatoa's neck, trying to communicate her affection and love through the contact, then sighed and slid down to the sand below. Tamatoa was looking upward and to the right, avoiding eye contact with both of them.

"Come on, sit down," Maui invited, ushering her onward the fire, which was little more than embers now.

"You seem…like you're feeling better," she said cautiously, kneeling as he handed her a smaller bowl of thick, heavy poi.

"I am," he agreed. "I gotta hit the road. You and Tama were right, and I feel more like myself. I gotta get back to her. But – before I do –" He looked at Tamatoa. The crab sighed, and rolled his eyes, and stayed stubbornly silent. " – I want you to come with me."

She almost dropped the bowl. Her eyes shot to Tamatoa, who was still steadfastly turned away. What had happened after she'd fallen back asleep?

"Tama's fine with it," Maui soothed. "I'm sure I can find a village with people who would happily welcome you."

"I – I – " she stammered, her eyes locked almost pleadingly on Tamatoa's face. He did not return her gaze, and shifted to turn even further away.

"Well," the demigod said expansively, enthusiastically. "What do you say?"

She thought her heart was breaking. He opened his mouth again, and she held out one hand to stop him.

She closed her eyes. She remembered the sound of Tamatoa's voice the night before, almost cracking with emotion when he'd refused to let her go. She heard, again, his off-handed comment about building her a house, and his bitterness about Maui. She remembered what he'd sounded like when he had talked about being abandoned.

"I would love to go," she said softly, opening her eyes. From the corner of her gaze, she could see Tamatoa flinch.

"But," she went on quietly, "not for long. And...not today."

"Wait – what?" Maui asked, nonplussed.

"What?" Tamatoa repeated, finally turning his eyes to face her.

She smiled weakly and set down the bowl of poi. Her stomach felt knotted and tense, and her hands felt fragile. "I'd love to visit. I'd love to – to go to a village and spend some time there and get to know people, maybe come visit sometimes, but I – I can't stay. I – " She swallowed, and closed her eyes for a moment. "I don't want to leave." Her hands were shaking. She pressed them into her lap.

"But – you said you wanted to connect with people, that you wanted to do good. That you wanted to be part of a community, a family – "

"And I do," she said softly. Her voice wavered. "But I _have_ connected with someone. I have a family. And I think – over the course of my very short life – " she chuckled " – that this is where I can do the most good." She looked up at Tamatoa and offered a wavering, questioning smile. The crab swallowed heavily, and he looked both ineffably relieved and, for just a quick breath, very sad.

She reached out to Maui, and held his massive hands in her small ones. "I'm grateful. I would love to go with you. Maybe someday, when you're less busy saving the islands, you can come take me to visit them, just for a little while." And she let out a breath. "But for today, it's important for me to stay right here."

"I – okay," Maui said, sounding at a loss. He pulled her into an embrace, pressing his forehead and nose to hers and sharing breath the way her mother had sometimes done. "I'll come back. I promise. And after I take you above, I promise to bring you back to Lalotai, if that's what you want."

She closed her eyes and leaned in to him, appreciating the human embrace, and smiled sadly. "Thank you, Maui. I wish you safe travels, and success. And I hope you find – happiness, and friendship."

He backed away with a smile, picking up his hook with a smile. "I already have," he said, and winked, before the world flashed blue and he morphed into the shape of a hawk. He swooped low, ruffling her hair, and then banked sharply right and swung upward, disappearing through the foliage and into the watery sky above.

"Well," she said shakily, turning to Tamatoa and dusting off her knees. "I guess we should get back to moving the last of your treasure, hmm?"

"Why?"

"Why what?" she stalled.

His face was carefully blank, guarded. The traces of old suspicions lingered in his large, luminous eyes - and something else, something sadder and more fragile, almost wistful. He lowered his head, meeting her at eye-level. "Why did you – _do_ that?"

She sighed, and walked up to him, and leaned against him.

"You had to have wanted to go, pearl."

She hummed softly. "When did you start calling me pearl?"

"Ugh." She could feel him roll his eyes - his whole head moved with them - but she could tell his heart was not in it. The fact that the Great Tamatoa was not feeling a dramatic gesture right now spoke to just how jarred he was. "I don't know. Two, three days ago?"

She smiled. "It's surprising that we've only been friends for a few days longer than that," she mused. "I've grown so fond of you." She reached up with her left hand and laid her palm on him, right next to where her shoulder leaned. She could feel her own heartbeat, heavy in her chest. "But _pearl?_ Am I such a treasure to you?" Her voice was teasing, and she felt him cringe away under her fingers, heard him sputter an incoherent protest.

"Oh, Tamatoa," she sighed. "You want to know why I didn't go? Because when I leave here, when I finally get to – to go meet people, to see the – the stars and the trees and sunrise, to celebrate with people and work with them and love them – _you_ need to know…that _I_ am _coming back."_

His breath was a shuddery as Maui's had been last night, when the demigod had been on the brink of tears. She leaned in further, putting all her weight on him, and stroked his side gently.

"I just thought – the closest I could come to convincing you of that was to wait. To stay here with you for now. And if Maui never comes back – if he forgets, or Te Ka wins and the poison spreads, or he's too injured or weakened or worse – then –" she smiled, and turned her face against him. " – then I'm glad to be here with you for the rest of my days."

He sighed, and she smiled and nudged him with her elbow.

"Just promise not to eat me," she teased.

He turned slowly, craning his eyes to look at her solemnly.

"Babe," he said slowly, deliberately. "Starfish. Aroha."

She shivered.

"I promise. I'm not going to eat you."

She smiled and thumped her forehead against him lightly. "I know." And then she yawned, and grinned, and danced away, her hand lingering on the side of his face for a moment before it trailed away. "Let's finish up here, okay?" She grinned up at him. "I'm ready to go home."

* * *

It did not take long for them to settle into a routine. Morning came, and Aroha would rise and crawl to the edge of Tamatoa's shell to press her hand to the side of his neck and wish him a good morning. He would alternately grunt or greet her. Sometimes, he would lean into her hand, just a little.

And then she would cut wood stalks, and clean fish, and he would fuss with his treasure and tell her some story or another. Each piece had a small history to it, and he knew it all. One day he would tell her how he came across it, and the next he would tell her where and when it had been made, the strange cultures of the people who had created it.

"You know so much," she would say, in awe, and he would look very pleased with himself.

"You're no slouch yourself, angelfish," he'd say when he was feeling genial, and sometimes then she would tell him one of her own stories – a tale from her childhood, or a story her mother had told her, or sometimes ones she made up herself.

He hummed often and once, when she asked him about it, he began singing to her, strutting through the grotto and preening, showing off his treasure. She'd watched with starry eyes.

"Did you like the song?" he said afterward, half-smug but – she heard under his voice – eager for her praise.

"Oh," she'd said, duly impressed, "I didn't know you were such a lyricist. And your voice – " and then she'd given him a slightly confused, faraway look and put her hand on her abdomen. "I feel fluttery."

His expression had shuddered from astonishment to vague horror, then supreme self-satisfaction and finally to an embarrassed sort of pleasure. He clicked his tongue and grinned, in spite of the flush in his cheeks. Instead of responding directly to her comment, he'd only asked, "Do you dance?"

And he'd spun again lazily, tilting his shell this way and that to catch the light and send splashes and dazzles of glitter over the crystal-encrusted walls.

She'd smiled. "When I was younger," she'd said. "My mother taught me some of the dances of her people, but I don't recall most of them, unfortunately." He'd gestured an invitation with one enormous claw and grinned again, humming leisurely as he swayed around the perimeter of the giant cavern. She'd followed, hesitantly at first: turning this way and then, stepping to one side and then another, mimicking Tamatoa's movements on an infinitely smaller scale. At some point, her movement flowed into the half-remembered dances of her childhood, and she found herself shifting and turning in time with Tamatoa's low crooning. She'd cast sideways glances up at him, smiling with delight, and he'd looked – _happy._

After that, there were days when she would sit in the watery blue afternoon night next to the umu, laughing and clapping while Tamatoa strutted through the clearing, singing dramatically about his own glory. And there were nights when he would hum deep, wordless melodies and watch her lazily through half-lidded eyes while she swayed in the glimmering firelight and soft glow of his bioluminescence. When she'd look askance at him, he'd only say something mild and observant: _you have gold dust on your cheek, pearl,_ or, _there are flakes of abalone shell in your hair._

She thought perhaps he meant to say, _We will always be friends._ She thought he meant to say, _You are dear to me._

Days passed, and eventually she lost count of them. She tried to resign herself to the reality that Maui was not coming back – that he had lost, or been injured while winning, or had forgotten. She busied herself with plans for her new hut, though Tamatoa always found reasons to delay its construction – and of course, he frowned on anything she could make herself.

"You gave me a home almost as gorgeous as myself, babe," he'd say placidly. "I'm not letting you ruin it with an eyesore."

But she thought perhaps, underneath it all, he just enjoyed having her climb up on his shell at night and sleep in her boat on his back, where he could keep her with him everywhere he went, and where he knew she was close. If pressed, she would have admitted that there was something about the arrangement that she liked too: it was intimate. They were companions. She didn't even know if she could still sleep without the sound and feel of him breathing beneath her, the muffled clicking of his claws as he quietly busied himself while she dreamed.

At night she would trace her fingers over the spiral of her snail shell, and she'd breathe quietly into the darkly-glittering grotto:

"Good night, Tamatoa. I love you."

It was a quiet risk. There was a chance he never heard her. Certainly he never responded – not in words.

But then one morning, the world was moving around her again when she woke up. It had been some time since Tamatoa had decided to go roaming while she slept, so it was a surprise – though a pleasant one. The Lalotai dawn was watery and blue and luminous.

She crawled to the edge of his shell, collecting seed pearls and gold-dust in the skin of her palms as she went. She dusted them off and lightly brushed the side of his neck. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise, starfish," he said, but he sounded disgruntled.

She rocked forward a bit, perching on the ridge of his shell where the gold plating curled around. "Are you taking me to find more treasure?" she asked curiously, eagerly. He'd half-seriously promised to "bring her along" the next time he got word of something shiny to collect, rolling his eyes and making a show of appeasing her laughing pleas. She had no doubt he would bring her anyway, if he could – though she thought he was trying to trust her, she doubted he was ready to leave her alone for days.

He might even worry about her if he was gone.

He grimaced, though. "Unfortunately, no."

She sat back, flummoxed. "Then where are we going?"

"Don't you know what the word _surprise_ means?" he snipped loftily.

"Mmm," she hummed, tapping her fingers on the edge of his shell. "Maybe you found some new and delicious kind of fruit-tree you're taking me to."

He scoffed.

"Maybe you have a monster-friend you want me to meet."

His sideways glance was baffled. "I'm not looking for you to get eaten, pearl."

"Maybe…." she gazed upward at the watery sky. "Maybe you found a new place for me to live."

He glowered. "Not. Funny."

She laughed. "Maybe you found some beautiful flowers you thought I would –"

"How long are you going to keep guessing?" he groused.

She grinned, her face still upturned. "How long is this trip going to be?"

She peppered him with purposefully-annoying and increasingly-ridiculous guesses and questions for the next hour or so before finally taking pity. For a time, he let her walk, and they stopped frequently for fruits she'd never seen that he deemed safe to eat. At one point, they came across a coconut tree – she'd seen and eaten from them before, but they were rare in Lalotai. He'd reached up with giant claws to cut some down and let her collect them. Later, she'd roasted up the meat for a fresh dinner.

"Are we stopping here for the night?" she'd asked, looking around for some sort of shelter.

"No," he'd said, looking around warily, then snuffing the fire she'd made with a careful and deliberate scoop of earth over the embers. "There are monsters in this area who are – less familiar with me. Obviously," he added confidently, "I can just make a meal of anything that might attack us, but I wouldn't want your flimsy self to get bruised in the process." He lowered himself. "Climb up. We'll keep going through the night. You can rest for a bit before we get there."

She rode nestled against his neck and the edge of his shell as he loped along, and the silence was companionable. A few murmured conversations later, and in the dimming light she found herself yawning and curling against him. The blue and pink glow of Tamatoa's bioluminescence slowly traced its way into being. Soon the blue light emanating from his treasure blossomed around her.

"Go to bed, babe," he suggested. "I'll be waking you up before morning."

She hesitated, then took his advice, crawling across his sloping shell and curling into her boat-bed, one arm wrapped loosely around the glossy snail-shell, her fingers rhythmically tracing its spiral in time to the gentle rocking of Tamatoa's stride.

"Good night, Tamatoa," she breathed softly into the cool, moist air. "I love you."

* * *

The world was black when she awoke, lit only by the blue glow of Tamatoa's claw as he withdrew it from her. He must have woken her. She made a little sound of surprise and adjustment, stretching before she sat up in bed.

"It's so dark," she said in sleep-dazed surprise.

"We're in a tunnel-system," Tamatoa explained. "We made it to the cave entrance just a little after you fell asleep."

She stretched and tried to let her eyes adjust to the darkness, but the contrast of Tamatoa's brilliant luminescence with the stark darkness of the cave system was overwhelming. Instead, she rolled from her boat and made her way to her perch on the edge of her shell. "You've been walking through here all night?" she asked curiously, and a little concerned in spite of his claims of not needing sleep.

He hummed a sound of acknowledgement, and she spread her fingers over the edge of his shell, blocking the illumination with the black shadow of her hand, studying the places where it shone through the fine skin. "How do you know where we are?"

"I use this system a lot." He cast a sideways grin at her, catching her marveling at his luminosity. He showed off the brilliant white of his teeth in the dark. "You staring, babe? I'd've thought you'd be used to my gorgeousness by now."

She chuckled, still sleepy. "Of course I'm staring," she teased. The aqua glow of his claws served as dim torches, casting the faintest of blue light over the tunnel ahead of them. She couldn't see far beyond them, but she settled in, reminding herself to trust him. "You'll always be breathtaking."

She could fill him swell with pride beneath her, his smirk growing even more smug and self-satisfied than she thought was possible. "It's taken a lot of work to be this awe-inspiring," he said, trying – and failing – to sound humble.

She smiled, shifting as she tried to wake herself up a bit more. "I don't believe it," she teased.

"It's true," he said, waving a claw airily. Faint shadows flickered over the tunnel ahead. "I floated ashore as the drabbest little crab you'd ever seen. Small enough to fit in your palm, a little soft-shell."

She rapped gently on the ridge of his blue-lit gold-plating. "That didn't last, I see," she said mildly.

"Of course not!" He sounded appalled. "How long do you think I could stand to live in a hollowed-out coconut shell?"

"A _coconut_ shell?" she repeated, laughing with surprise and more than a little amusement. She imagined him, tiny and large-eyed, blinking up from a lopsided coconut shell. In her mind, nothing was more endearing – or hilarious.

He pulled a face, evidenced by the shifting pink and blue stripes beneath his eyes and around his mouth. "When we float up on shore, we're too fragile to last for long unless we find shelter. We use other shells, or coconuts till we outgrow them, but they're _hideous_ , even after you spend days and days polishing – "

"Wait," she halted him with a hand to the side of his neck, still chuckling at the thought of a tiny Tamatoa furiously polishing his coconut shell. "You use other seashells, too?"

"Sure did, starfish. When we start getting too big, we harden our shells ourselves – most coconut crabs just use chalk and chitin but _I – "_ and he dipped and swayed, looking back at his own glittering, glowing shell with an expression of pride clear in his glowing eyes. She wanted to ask him about what Maui had said, about his reluctance to molt, to temporarily lose both the armor and the glamour of his gold plating. But for now, she was pre-occupied. For now, she imagined –

"Then the shell you gave me…" she started slowly, almost hesitantly, her laughter fading.

He cast a knowing glance at her, perched on the edge of his shell. "That snail-shell you've been sleeping with was my first step-up from the blasted coconuts. It's probably the oldest thing I've still got in my trove."

She pressed a hand to her heart, inexplicably moved.

His sideways glance turned uncomfortable. "Don't go getting all squishy on me now, human."

She had thought the snail-shell was massive before, but at the thought of Tamatoa being small enough to fit in it, to be held in her arms while she slept, made her eyes suddenly fill with tears.

"What are you _doing?"_ he gaped, horrified. His shell dipped as he skittered sideways in agitation, but she held on.

"You were so _little,_ " she sniffled. Her mother had always lamented her soft heart for small things.

"Stop," he commanded. His eyes twitched back-and-forth, pink-and-blue, nervously. "Stop _leaking_ on me."

She wiped at her face with one wrist and swallowed back her tears, but barely. "I'm sorry. I'm still sleepy. And you gave me your _home."_

Now he looked disgruntled and cast his eyes in the distance, down the tunnel, at things she couldn't possibly see. "Well," he evaded, "you gave me yours first."

She chewed her lip, keeping her lashes lowered to try to guard against more tears.

"So sentimental," he lamented under his breath, but it sounded almost like an endearment. For a moment, they tread on in silence, and then he cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"You know," he said uncomfortably, after a moment, "if I could take you to an island with people, with a village, I would."

She was not at all certain of that, but she was more than willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. And his tone surprised her: a little anxious, but intent – almost earnest.

"Unfortunately," he shifted nervously, "villages tend to not like me." Then he grinned defensively, savagely, as if to remind her that he was, after all, a beast to be feared. "Not to mention that all the islands with people tend to be far away from the entrances to Lalotai. Humankind knows not to settle where they are in easy reach of monsters. Now," he added condescendingly, " _I_ could still get to them. Most coconut crabs can only survive an hour or so underwater – but I'm _me."_ He grinned, then tossed a scrutinizing eye over his shoulder at her. "You, on the other hand – "

"I would drown," she said quietly. He shifted in discomfort once more.

"I can't build a boat," he said only, "and I don't suppose your mother taught you how."

She shook her head, and he nodded, lifting one claw. The faint bioluminescent glow revealed a curtain of vines and leaves just ahead of them, and he reached for it.

"Still," he said quietly, almost pensively, "I can give you something." And he pushed aside the vines.

It took her a moment to comprehend what she was seeing. The tunnel opened into the mouth of a cave, and on the other side, she could see an expanse of sand and trees. But the dark water was not contained to a simple pool or spring or river – it went out to the edge of everything she could see. And the sky was not the watery sky of Lalotai, but smooth and dark and speckled with pinpricks of light.

Tamatoa must have known the minute she understood. Her gasp caught in her throat like a hiccup.

"Stars," she breathed.

Slowly, almost afraid to move, she eased herself down from his shoulder and stepped toward the glowing entrance of the cave, out into the night air above Lalotai.


	9. Chapter 9

Summary: Unpolished, unedited, just-for-fun drabbles, with no goal in mind. A nameless girl meets Tamatoa. '"Time for a most-delicious snack for my most-delightful self," he leered, and she heard again her mother's voice: _Your empathy will get you killed down here, daughter.'_

* * *

She stood for a moment at the mouth of cave. Her heart was beating so wildly behind her sternum that it hurt. Only her toes were outside, drenched in moonlight, dark against the pale, fine sand.

She drew in a shaky breath, then another. The world was so open.

She felt Tamatoa draw up behind her, his massive presence comforting behind her back.

Tentatively: "Starfish?"

She hummed. "I've wanted this for so long," she managed to bite out. The words shuddered through her chest, her throat. "It's so…large out there. So uncovered." She looked up at him. "Even you look small, in comparison."

He cleared his throat, lifted his chin, and glanced down at her from the corner of his eyes. "Don't be hurtful, babe."

She let out a shaky laugh.

Then: "Are you ready?"

"I hadn't expected to be so – overwhelmed."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you going to start crying again?"

She laughed. "Probably."

"Then," he said, with surprising gentleness, "do it out there." She felt his massive claw behind her back, propelling her slowly but surely out into the open blue-shadowed air.

She breathed in. The air was different somehow – less wet, less still. It felt alive. The sand beneath her feet was silkier than the gritty gravel of Lalotai: cool, soft. It almost looked blue in the light. The stars shivered above. Between them, the sky was more black than anything she'd ever seen, more black than the obsidian she'd found in Tamatoa's treasure. Her mother's descriptions didn't do the sky justice. The moon – she thought it was the moon – was a sliver of pearl, as nacreous as the snail-shell that had once been Tamatoa's home, as glowingly white as his eyes and teeth in the dark tunnels. She stared upward, taking it all in, turning. Her feet sifted through the cool sand.

"What's that sound?" she asked.

"The ocean."

She looked at him, and he gestured to the shore with one claw, still faintly glowing blue. "You're skyside now, babe. You're on top of Lalotai."

And she looked toward the water again, which stretched everywhere, and she saw that it was alive too. The slow-rolling currents that had pushed fish and plants and light along Lalotai's sky was tumultuous on its surface: countless ripples sliding over larger waves, which crested on the shore into a foam made of silver and light. There was a second moon reflected there: dazzling, broken on the waves.

She looked back to the sky. She turned to the ocean, and then back to the stars once more. She was turning in circles, and she started laughing. "I don't even know where to start," she said, and she breathed in again – the sweet, wild night air – and raced off toward the shoreline, half-staggering in the sand, nearly drunk with oxygen and starlight.

The water broke open in jewels as she splashed into it. It licked against her shins and thighs, drenched her mouth with salt. It was warm – warmer even than the cool air.

Her mother had taught her the cautious basics of swimming: it was dangerous to spend too much time in the placid pools of Lalotai, which were likely teeming with monster-eels and ravenous weeds, corals with teeth – but she'd thought it important her daughter have the best chance of surviving in case she ever fell into Lalotai waters. Still, she'd told her daughter stories of the clear blue ocean above, the clean salt of it, the small creatures, the relative safety, the peacefulness of being ensconced in the sea. Aroha laughed and flung water in the sky like crushed gemstones, like silver coins.

"Tamatoa!" she laughed, spinning in the water. Light shattered around her in a thousand sparkles, as bright as their shared crystal grotto and infinitely more alive. "I'm swimming in the moon!"

He sat at the edge of the shore, watching her placidly.

"Come," she beckoned, both shining wet hands held out to him, laughing. "Beautiful Tamatoa, come with me!"

He rolled his eyes, but she knew him well enough to see how pleased he was – with his gift, with himself, with her invitation and admiration. She felt like she was a mirror for the world, the beautiful moon, the stars, the sea, his own delight; she felt giddy, reflecting it all back.

"Come, come," she urged, even as he waded out into the sea with a show of false reluctance.

The water that hit her mid-thigh was barely enough for him to wade in: he still towered above the surface, blotting out the starlight on the rippling waves. He lowered himself to the sand, belly-deep in water now, and his gold-plated, treasure-studded shell had never looked as stunning as it did here and now in the strange, luminous night on top of the land of monsters.

"Beautiful Tamatoa," she repeated, and spun with her hands breaking open the surface of the water, sending a fan of glossy, luminous water toward him. "All this light – you're even more gorgeous and sparkling out here than I'd realized."

He snorted. "Flattery, starfish," he said dryly, and then: "Go on."

She threw her arms wide, spinning faster, losing herself in the wide sky and the salt and the sea, the shivery stars, the gleaming moon, the light that reflected off her friend and the water and then melted over her slick skin like little glowing ghosts.

"Tamatoa, I'm in love!" she gasped giddily into the world, breathing her heart into the cool, clean, living air.

He hummed under his breath. "With me, I hope," he snipped, but his voice sounded softer and more hoarse than usual.

She stumbled, losing her footing in the wet sand and water, and came up drenched – the cloud of her dark hair was a wet silk curtain, shining, and the water clung to her eyelashes like jewels. She flung back her tangle-drenched hair and yelled to the sky, "Yes!"

He snorted but said nothing, watching her with that inscrutable and hooded expression.

She threw herself into the side of his neck, so hard he let out a little _whuff_ of breath. "Yes, I love you, and the stars, and the wind, and the moon, and all the things I haven't seen yet – these waves, and that one, and that one, and the way the tide feels – the light, the scent of it – " And she pushed herself away and spun out again.

She wasn't sure how long she rambled and spun and swam and lost herself in the way the stars moved and shifted. She tried to remember the stories her mother had told her about the stars – she tried to re-tell them to Tamatoa but her attention was as fractured as the moonlight on the water, and she stumbled over her words and lost her place, and he seemed to not mind at all.

Eventually he coaxed her back to shore. "You're going to wear yourself out," he'd complained, "and I don't want to deal with you drowning yourself, babe."

"But when will I be able to come back?" she'd asked, and even her pleasure couldn't hide her urgency, her nervousness. "I need to be – I need to have –" She stumbled over her words. "I want this etched into my memory," she said at last, fervently, and something around his eyes softened.

"I'll bring you back," he'd said, and though he'd tried to sound annoyed, she'd heard the promise in it. "Relax, starfish. You'll enjoy it more if you slow down."

Now she lay on her back in the sand, heedless of the way it clung to her wet skirt and skin.

"You look you're drinking starlight," he rumbled, his voice low as he watched her.

She smiled, but didn't turn her eyes from the sky. "I am," she said, and raised her hands so that they made dark shapes against the black and blue. "The moon reminds me of your snail shell." She measured it with her finger tips, scaled its distance between the stars.

"I polished that thing every day," he recalled, his voice mild. "Do you know how long it took to wear down the outside?"

"Mmmm," she hummed dreamily. "A labor of love."

He let out a startled snort.

"Tamatoa?" she asked. "Is the sky getting – bluer?"

She could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice. "Yeah. It's the other thing I wanted to show you." She sat up abruptly, flinging sand from her hair, and he winced. "Ugh, you're filthy. We're gonna have to make sure you wash up – "

"Is it the sunrise?" she interrupted, eyes wide and fastened on him, for the first time torn away from the sea and sky.

He permitted himself a proud little smirk. "Watch, pearl."

"Tamatoa," she said urgently, "I've never seen a sunrise before."

He rolled his eyes. "I'd gathered, babe."

The edge of the horizon swept purple and lime. Wisping clouds she hadn't noticed before gathered pink and orange shadows, as vivid as a Lalotai flower. They watched in silence as stars began fading, one-by-one, and a wash of gold melted over the edge of the ocean. She was sitting now, half-crusted with sand, and she leaned into him with a shaky sigh.

He didn't complain this time.

The clouds suddenly showed their crisp copper edges. Rays of light slanted upward, fading into the lavender and aquamarine sky, and the lost ghosts of the stars. And if he was watching her face as the sun finally crested the sea – watching her eyes and the softness of her mouth as she drank in the sight, as the light lifted over her features like a curtain – well, if he was watching her instead of the sun, then she was too enraptured in the dawn to notice.

They watched in silence: the rich, shifting colors, the movement of the clouds far out on the forizon, the burning sun. The glimmering water. Once, she tried to glanced at him, but the light was blinding against his shell, and she had to look away. Now she felt herself growing heavy against him as the sky melted into a deep, domed blue, softening at the horizon where the clouds roamed like distant beasts.

"I've never felt so warm," she murmured against him, closing her eyes against the brightness of the sun. Her muscles felt languid and soft in the heat.

He hummed and shifted, and she felt herself being moved. When she opened her eyes, Tamatoa was resettling the two of them in a patch of greenery at the edge of the beach, further from the water and shaded by trees. "Why?" she almost-whined.

"I'm not about to take care of a blister-burnt human who's never seen the sun before in her life and decides to take an eight-hour nap this close to the equator," he snipped. "Anyone can get a sunburn, starfish – even you."

She frowned, but the leaves beneath her were silky and cool, and the air was still sweet and clear. She pillowed her head with her hands and drifted off, nestled in the circle of Tamatoa's massive claws.

They spent days on the beach – she was surprised by how long he was willing to stay. She played in the ocean, though he'd warned her against going out too far and she'd remembered her mother's talk of undertow and currents.

"The ocean isn't like Lalotai water," he'd cautioned her. "There may be fewer things trying to eat you this close to shore, but the water itself has a mind of its own." And he'd scowled, as if at some point the sea had personally insulted him.

Still, she'd seen such incredible life in the shallows. Colorful striped things, and flashing silver creatures. She'd found fish tinier than the nails on her littlest fingers, and a hermit crab so small it made her cry, casting tearful and soulful looks at Tamatoa, who had been profoundly discomfited by the whole thing. A sea turtle had come in to relax in the shallows, heedless of the giant crab who eyed it hungrily and would likely have made a meal of it if Aroha hadn't been so taken by it. Instead, the monster had rolled his eyes and let her fawn over the creature. He ate his way through a number of coconut trees, along with any tidepool whose citizens Aroha had not already decided to adopt.

She found taro to roast, and drank and ate from the coconuts that Tamatoa spared her. They sat by the fire at night and she stared up dreamily at the shifting patterns of stars, the rising and growing crescent moon. She danced in the sand. She scrubbed it from her body in the ocean. She swam in the sun, and she swam in the stars. She swam in the light of dusk, and dawn, when the water was a fractured pattern of rubies and sapphires, amethysts and topaz. Her lips always tasted like salt. When it rained, she was mesmerized: she would stand in it and feel the drops lick over her skin while Tamatoa watched from the shelter of the cave. Sometimes she joined him, and they watched the clouds roll in over the ocean, the curtains of rain in the distance. At night, she slept against the leaves, or against Tamatoa, or both – but she didn't climb back into her boat-bed, not yet. She was too in love with the feeling of the earth underneath her – her first island, her home. Years later, she promised herself, she would remember this as sacred, no matter what happened in the time to come.

She could tell when he started getting twitchy, when he was ready leave the open space of sun and sky and get back to his treasure, his sheltered grotto. He didn't say anything at first, and she knew he was trying to be patient for as long as possible.

So she cooked herself a last dinner while the moon and sun shared the sky, which she split with him in spite of it not being nearly enough to fill his stomach. As she laid sprawled on the sand, watching the sun dip below the line of sky and sea, and the vibrant hot colors mellow out into a sweet, warm purple, she said, "We should go back home in the morning."

He looked down at her in surprise, and she shrugged, lifting her chin resolutely.

"You said you'd bring me back, and I believe you," she said quietly. "I don't want to make you stay longer than you want, longer than is enjoyable for you." She nodded to herself, watching as the stars pricked their way into existence. "When we come here, I want it always to be something we both enjoy. I don't want to stay even a _moment_ longer than is good for _both_ of us."

He was silent for a long moment, and then eased himself lower in the sand, his eyes catching light from the fire and the moon. He lowered his lids lazily, watching her with that hooded expression that she couldn't identify, even though he was usually so theatrically transparent.

Quietly, then:

"Whatever you want, starfish."

* * *

A/N: Just a few chapters more - they are mostly written, just waiting for me to have the time to check for typos and post. In the meantime, thank you deeply to those of you who have left comments or whom have enjoyed reading, who have been supportive and encouraging, who have shared this little journey of love with me.

I firmly believe we write the fanfiction we need, and I began writing this piece when I was desperately lonely. It has been a comfort for me, and I hope it has offered some comfort to some of you as well. 3 As always, I am so grateful for the wonderful, welcoming nature of the fanfiction community, which has always been a home for me. Thank you, and I love you all!


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